


What a Lovely Way to Burn

by HMSLusitania



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Josephine's patience will be tried, Multi, Slow Burn, There will be some smut in later chapters, and both bethany and carver hawke being alive, and canonical violence, and there's some canonical character death, but oh what a lovely way to...uh...anyway, can he keep himself from imploding? also no, can the inquisitor keep them from imploding? probably not, everyone in the inquisition is full of more hormones than a sack of cats, for just about everyone, from all sides, it's gonna be fun, it's problematic, like the warden commander and king of ferelden being around, retelling plus a lot of altered moments, the inquisitor has a sister, the trevelyans are the medicis of the free marches, there are also some crises of faith, things get a lot less retelling after they get to Skyhold
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-01-25 13:32:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 118,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12532648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HMSLusitania/pseuds/HMSLusitania
Summary: No one should have survived the explosion at the Divine Conclave. But three people who should have died managed to walk away.Evelyn Trevelyan put her own survival down to her distrust of the rest of the Mage Rebellion. Ellana Lavellan blamed luck. Max Trevelyan, on the other hand, was handed out of the fade by Andraste herself - at least that's what everyone says.Add the right and left hands of the Divine, a Tevinter cult, and an ominous figure from ancient lore trying to kill them all, and the Inquisition is off to a great start.





	1. Part One - In Your Heart Shall Burn

**Author's Note:**

> This is definitely my first work in the Dragon Age fandom, which has produced a truly astonishing and intimidating number of epic works of fanfic. I have this written up until Skyhold, but I'll be meting it out, as I am in graduate school and even though I'm getting a degree in Medieval History ~~(...another degree in Medieval History)~~ writing Dragon Age fanfic doesn't technically count as working on my coursework. Technically, this has also become my NaNo project, so hopefully I'll actually have it finished by December 1st. Which should be fun. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also as a warning, you're about to be faced with American punctuation conventions and British spelling conventions because I have had a wild pattern of habitation and education in my life.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ostwick, 9:23 Dragon. 
> 
> An introduction.

Everything sparkled on the last day.

The sea off the coast of the Free Marches sparkled in the sun like candlelight through stained glass, and the light flickered and sparked off matching sets of copper hair. She remembered the early parts of the last day in flashes, pieces that were better left forgotten. It was a bad day.

He clung to every second.

Ostwick wasn’t strictly on the sea, but anyone who was anyone – and Bann Trevelyan was _someone_ that was for sure – had a summer home that overlooked the Waking Sea and would take time to drag their household down and make sure they were seen doing so.

Max was the first to notice on the last day that the shadow of the Ostwick Circle stretched over their family’s part of the beach.

It wasn’t a sandy beach, not like the kind they heard of in Rivain or on the borders of the Amaranthine Ocean. The Ostwick beach was a pebble beach, strewn with pieces of seaweed and spindleweed and blood lotus that flopped onto the rocks. The blood lotus stalks made excellent pretend daggers, Max was happy to note.

Playing pretend was their favourite pastime. Back when they could. And it was what they were doing on the last day.

“All Tevinters should fear me!” Max roared to the sparkling waters, brandishing his blood lotus daggers. Evie giggled and then tried to compose herself. Hers was a very important role.

“The Tevinters should fear all champions of the just!” Evie said, her child’s voice ringing high and soft and just barely heard above the waves.

It was a make believe that they indulged in often when they were sent to the beach. Max was Havard, the devoted disciple who had carried Andraste’s ashes to their final resting place across the Waking Sea in the Frostback Mountains. Evelyn, of course, was Andraste herself.

Their older siblings tended to mock this game, but since they were so much younger than the others, they were allowed some freedoms.

At least, they were.

Before.

“Oh no! The elves have fallen!” Max exclaimed, lunging dramatically towards the sea to defend their invisible fallen allies. “Don’t worry my lady, I shall carry your ashes safely to Ferelden!”

“My hero,” Evie said, giggling again, and pretending to swoon – dead – to the beach. “Oh! Max! We forgot the holy fire!”

Max smacked himself in the forehead and ran to light their pyre built of dried weeds and nestled safely in a bed of rock. Evie sat up and hugged her knees in while he scrambled over the rocks. Isaac and Aunt Lucille were sitting farther down the beach, Aunt Lucille in her finest Orlesian fashions. They were watching indulgently the eight year old twins, since Isaac had drawn the short straw to stay with Aunt Lucille, and Aunt Lucille had volunteered.

Evie waved at them and Aunt Lucille inclined the brim of her hat. Isaac just rolled his eyes and looked back at his book.

“What’s taking so long?” Evie asked as Max tried to grapple with the flint.

“There’s wind,” he replied, a furrow appearing between his eyebrows. Evie had the same one. They were so alike then, with their copper waves of perpetually messy hair, and their knobby elbows and knees that didn’t fit the rest of their gangly frames. Stick Max in one of Evie’s frocks or Evie in Max’s ceremonial armour and it would’ve been nigh impossible to tell them apart.

“Here, let me do it,” Evie said, snatching the flint away from him and starting to strike it.

“No, Evie you’re supposed to be dead!” Max said.

“But I can’t be dead if there isn’t any fire!” Evie pointed out.

Years later, she couldn’t be sure how it happened exactly. She wasn’t sure at which point she dropped the flint, or at which point the seaweed pyre caught anyway, or at which point she realised the fire was coming from her own hands, or when she noticed she’d burnt Max.

She remembered Aunt Lucille screaming, and then fainting in horror, and Isaac running to get their father, and Max’s face. The green and gold that always met her if she borrowed her sister's looking glass, that stared at her from Max’s narrow face as well, brimmed with tears and she thought it was pain, from the burn. But he hugged her fiercely, even as they heard running footsteps returning.

“I won’t let them take you,” he promised. “Because you’d do the same for me.”

And she would, because they were so alike in every conceivable way.

But not, it seemed, in this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what the update schedule is going to be here. I'm thinking two chapters a week, but whether or not that's two chapters on, say, Saturdays, or one chapter on Saturday and one chapter on Tuesday is up to anyone who willingly reads this.


	2. A Rough Introduction pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ferelden, 9:41 Dragon. 
> 
> In which the lead characters are introduced, and there is an explosion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for the actual story! 
> 
> ~~I am very new to interacting with this fandom.~~

Evelyn paced the lengths of Fiona’s stronghold. She’d never been to Redcliffe Castle before, but she’d been given a tour by Fiona once she and the rest of the mages from Ostwick had arrived. It was odd, being in a castle again. Evie hadn’t been in a castle, not properly, since she was eight years old.

“You’ve already got a delegation at the Conclave,” Evie said, passing by Fiona who was watching her with shrewd eyes. “Why would you need to send me as well?”

“Because you are Evelyn Trevelyan,” Fiona said. “The leader of the Ostwick rebellion, and the youngest Senior Enchanter, possibly in Thedas history.”

Evie raised one eyebrow.

“And because if I believe anyone can go to a Conclave and refuse to back away from the goals most important to our cause, I believe it would be you,” Fiona added.

“Why not you, Fiona?” Evie asked. “You were a Grey Warden, a Grand Enchanter. Surely you would also be a valuable contribution to the Conclave. Or are you too afraid they’re going to arrest you?”

The corner of Fiona’s lip curled and Evie wanted to chastise herself. This was not what mages did. Mages were not party to politicking and the backbiting assholery that nobles got up to, or the games that bards played. She figured she could always blame her Bann father’s blood. Or maybe it was her Antivan mother.

“I’m entrusting you to go to the Conclave in my stead,” Fiona said. “Be my voice there.”

“We’ve known each other a week, Fiona,” Evie said. “That’s an awful lot of faith to put in someone you barely know.”

“You and I share the same goals,” Fiona said. “And a certain…flexibility about the means by which we attain them. I believe we can trust each other, don’t you?”

Evie, feeling very much like she was going to regret this decision, shook Fiona’s hand, and finally, grudgingly, agreed to leave at first light for the village of Haven and the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

* * *

* * *

 

“Would you stop bouncing? You’re going to give us away!” Mahanon hissed, smacking Ellana in the arm. Ellana sat perfectly still in the boughs of their tree and attempted to look contrite. She kept her hands folded in her lap, pressed against her crossed ankles, and tried not to be hyperaware of her quiver pressed against her back. It was a losing battle, especially when the mercenaries who’d been hired for security for the shemlens Conclave walked by the outskirts of the Temple just below their tree.

“Mahanon! They’ve got a Qunari!” Ellana whispered, uncrossing her legs and crawling to the very limits of the branch to see better.

“You’re going to get us killed,” Mahanon complained, pulling her back towards the trunk. Ellana pouted but leaned back against his shoulder.

“No one you’d rather die with, right?” she asked.

He sighed, clearly put upon, but kissed her temple anyway. “Of course not.”

It had been the Keeper’s condition. They had to know what was going on with the shemlen in the south, and so clearly they ought to send Mahanon, who was their best spy, but sending Mahanon anywhere would mean leaving Ellana at home without authorised supervision. Or, since that was an untenable idea as far as their Keeper was concerned, she could take the lesser of two evils and send Ellana _with_ Mahanon, who was the only person known who could actually keep her out of accidental disaster.

“We’re just here to watch, _ma vhenan,_ ” Mahanon reminded her. Ellana’s chest constricted. It always did whenever he called her that, or said anything to remind her of the fact they were promised to each other. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Mahanon, she did. She’d always _liked_ him, but she didn’t…well, she didn’t love him.

Which was why she waited until Mahanon snuck into the actual Temple to eavesdrop before she dropped down to the ground and went to do some exploring of her own.

* * *

* * *

 

Max was about ready to gouge his own eyes out or tear his own ears off. If he had to listen to the stuffed shirt from Ledes complain one more time about how a mage in his city had once caught a haybarn on fire so they all deserved to be locked up, he was going to do something drastic.

It hadn’t seemed like it was explicitly going to be hell when he’d agreed to go to the Conclave. A Divine Conclave, held by Divine Justinia, to discuss what was going to be done with the rebelling mages and the insurgent templars.

“The Trevelyans must be seen at the Conclave, you understand,” his brother had told him when he’d summoned Max to his office like he was king of a small country, rather than the Bann of the Trevelyan lands. “Annabelle, Miriam, and I agreed that you would be the best man for the job.”

“And why is that?” Max had replied, drinking more of Isaac’s brandy than Isaac would normally have allowed.

“Because you have a sister who’s a mage,” Isaac had said. “The other delegates will believe sympathies from you, for sure.”

Max had stared at him for a long time, long enough that the silence started to get desperately uncomfortable on Isaac’s side of the desk.

“Isaac? I hate to break this to you, but the fact my twin is a mage means you _also_ have a sister who’s a mage,” Max had said, and then he’d allowed himself to be shipped off to Ferelden for the Conclave. The real reason he’d agreed was that Evie had reportedly led the full-blown rebellion in the Ostwick Circle, and he hadn’t heard anything from her since. Not that he’d heard anything since he’d gotten to the Conclave. At least, he hadn’t heard anything about his sister.

“And you all just sit there and act like they’re actual people!” a lesser bann from Ferelden shouted in Max’s general direction. A faction of the non-magical delegates had taken seats together nearer the mages because – in Max’s opinion – theirs was the only faction with sense.

“Actual people?” one of the mages snapped.

“Instead you’re all just time-bombs waiting to happen, sitting there waiting to start spewing out demons everywhere! Of course we need the templars to keep us safe from you!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!”

It took Max a moment to realise the loudest interjection had been his own. And that he was standing. And that he’d smacked the surface of the table so hard several jars of ink had spilled over sideways. Max pulled his hands away from the surface of the table and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“We should all take a recess,” he said in a more even tone. “And then maybe ponces like you can try to figure out how to duel about it like civilised people.”

The bann gaped at him, but Max didn’t spare him a second look before leaving the chamber and heading down a hall. It was a recurring problem in his life, being drawn to drama and kerfuffle. Sometimes it wasn’t intentional – like being sent to the Conclave. Other times, it was all on him. Which was why he threw open a door when he heard shouting.

“What the hell is going on--”

* * *

 

Something was dreadfully wrong. Max blinked and tried to clear his head, shake off the ringing, but it wouldn’t quite go away. He worked his jaw, trying to unblock his ears, and only barely managed when he realised he was handcuffed. Handcuffed and kneeling in the middle of a dungeon. It was…not where he remembered being most recently.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t just kill you now.”

The exclamation was punctuated with the tip of a sword brushing his nose, and Max leaned back a bit before looking up at the woman wielding it. He would’ve thought she was the latter-day avatar of some ancient Tevinter goddess considering how tall and imposing she was, if it hadn’t been for the Andrastian symbol blazoned on her breastplate.

“Aside from the fact I have no idea why you’d want to?” Max asked.

“We need him, Cassandra.”

This woman, smaller, softer, and Max therefore assumed much deadlier. Her hair was almost the same colour as his own, which he almost commented on, and then decided he had to be delirious.

“Tell us what you remember,” Cassandra demanded, and to Max’s relief she sheathed her sword.

What did he remember? It was a good question. He remembered being at the Conclave, being furious at someone, storming off…and the next thing he remembered after that was running. But it wasn’t anywhere he’d ever seen in Thedas. And…

“There was a woman?” he offered, unsure of what he was saying. He glanced down to try and work more of his memory out, and then caught sight of his hand. It sparked, the green light hissing and spitting like an enraged mouser that had just cornered its prey.

“A woman?” the Orlesian woman asked. “What sort of woman?”

“I don’t remember,” Max said, still staring at his hand. “What is this?”

“We assumed that you might tell us,” Cassandra said.

Max looked up at them again. “I have absolutely no idea what’s going on. I don’t even remember leaving the Conclave.”

Cassandra and the Orlesian woman exchanged looks.

“Everyone at the Conclave is dead,” Cassandra said. Pain clouded her voice and Max winced. “Divine Justinia--”

“Everyone?” Max repeated, gaping at her. “All those people?”

Cassandra took a deep breath and pulled him to his feet. The thing on his hand flared horribly.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana,” she said. “I will bring the prisoner.”

“Where are we going?” Max asked.

The way Cassandra said “I’m taking you to the Breach” told him that everything he’d ever known was about to change.

* * *

* * *

 

Ellana regained consciousness with the worst headache she’d ever had. It took her a few minutes to realise she was lying in a pile of leaves in a small gully of rocks, and there were nugs licking her. She sat up and pressed the heel of her hand to her head, hoping it would stop some of the pain.

When she moved, the nugs scattered. She did a quick inventory and discovered to her relief that her bow was fine, and most of her arrows were intact, but she had no idea how she’d ended up in this gully in the first place.

She’d been exploring the grounds of the Temple while Mahanon spied, she’d ducked out of the way to avoid the mercenaries and accidentally caught a barrel of _something_ on fire, and then while they’d been distracted, she’d hid, but it hadn’t been in a gully.

She looked towards the top edge of the rocks, and then just stared. The strangest crystal she’d ever seen was bridging the top of her gully eight feet up. For the most part it was grey, but veins of unnatural green spread through it. It almost looked like veridian, but it glowed in ways Ellana had only ever seen magic glow.

Deciding to ignore the headache for the time being, until she could find some elfroot, she scaled the wall of her gully and perched next to the odd crystal. She wasn’t about to touch it, but she followed its length from tip back towards its origin with her eyes, and then froze. The crystal started much farther away than she’d assumed it would, stretching all the way back to a fanlike array of strange green spikes. They spread out from a central source she couldn’t determine, jagged and horrible against the mountains. She was a little surprised the shems hadn’t started swarming the place. There had been enough of them in the Temple to start an army, but there weren’t any investigating the strange green crystals.

Her head still spinning, Ellana stood up and scanned around for more crystals, and any of the shems. Surely some of them would be coming from the Temple.

But when she looked around, there was no one. And there was no Temple. It had completely vanished, or she’d been thrown farther than she thought by the blast that produced the green stones.

The blast.

Dawning realisation spread across her like the worst sort of rash. The Temple _was_ gone. It had been where the green stones started. No one was surrounding it and trying to figure out what it was because –

“No,” she heard herself whisper. “No. No! NO!”

Mahanon had been in the Temple. Mahanon was…

Ellana deflated, and sank down to her knees. One of the nugs that had been licking her earlier hesitantly wandered over to her and placed one of its hands on her knee. She imagined it wasn’t expecting her to grab it and hold it tightly for the sake of having something to hold while she cried. She might not have loved him, but Mahanon was the only friend she had back in the clan. The only family. She didn’t know how she was going to go back to the clan and tell the Keeper. Not only had the shemlens’ Conclave exploded, Mahanon was _dead_.

Ellana hugged the nug so tightly it squeaked.

“Sorry,” she said, loosening her hold on it just enough that it was more comfortable while still being comforting. When she looked away from the nug and sniffed, trying to figure out what she was going to do, she realised the light from the crystals was reflecting on the clouds.

And then she looked up.

She’d been running at least a mile in the other direction, as far away from the hole in the sky as she could get, before she realised she was still holding the nug.

* * *

* * *

 

If he had assembled a list of all the things he might expect to find in Ferelden when he went south seeking Alexius’s targets, Dorian was fairly certain that nowhere on that list would there be a “giant fuck-off huge hole in the sky.” There was nothing to really do about it either, except stare hopelessly at the sky and, as far as he could tell, make his peace with the Maker. But, he figured, if he could try and get at what Alexius was doing, maybe he could make the end of the world just a little less terrible.

When it started pouring, he found his way to a tavern. He’d always expected Fereldan taverns to be lively, chipper places full of singing and dogs and more ale than anyone knew what to do with. This particular tavern, somewhere called the Hinterlands near the shores of Lake Calenhad, was not full of pep and cheer, but rather solemn silence. No one even stared at him when he walked in.

Of course, that let him scan the other patrons for threats before he made his way to the bar. Everyone looked exactly like he’d imagined the patrons of a tavern this far south ought to look, with the exception of a Dalish elf tucked into the corner in a ball. She was holding a mug of beer and staring down at the table, but not really looking at it. The edges of her white hair looked like it might be singed, but everyone was steering well clear of her. Absently, Dorian wondered if it was because of the ears sticking up from her lap. In the hollow between her knees and her chest, she’d stuck some sort of animal that appeared to be content with its circumstances, but was also warding people off.

Dorian left the elf be and slid onto an empty stool at the bar itself.

“What do you want?” the bartender asked.

“A beer, please,” Dorian said.

The bartender grunted and poured him one before moving farther down the bar to talk to other patrons instead of him. Dorian sighed dramatically and took a drink.

“The beer here is crap.”

Dorian started and looked to the woman sitting on his left. She had a hood pulled low over her face, the green fabric casting a shadow over her eyes and most other features. She wore several rings, however, and Dorian recognised those at least.

“I thought Fereldan mages weren’t allowed out of their towers,” he said, quietly enough no one would hear him aside from the woman.

“Good thing I’m a Marcher then,” she replied.

“But if Marchers are theoretically allowed to be free – which I don’t think is the case – then why do you have your face hidden?” Dorian asked jovially. He did always like a spot of intrigue.

“There’s a hole in the sky that’s trying to consume the world, everyone who was at the Divine Conclave is dead, and I was supposed to be there, because I know who killed the Divine,” the woman said. “I can tell you because you’re Tevinter and who’s going to believe you?”

Dorian parsed that through for a moment, and then the two of them took synchronous drinks of their beer.

“Why do you know?” Dorian asked finally. A spot of intrigue was one thing; accidentally winding up in the middle of a major conspiracy to kill the south’s Divine and everyone else involved in the Conclave was…a bit more intrigue than he was prepared for.

“Because,” the mage said. “She also tried to kill me.”

* * *

* * *

 

It was the only solution Evie could think of. Fiona, desperate to end the mage imprisonment, had blown up the Conclave. Evie, as the strongest oppositional leader within the rebel mages, had been sent to the Conclave to die in the blast. Fiona probably would’ve martyred her, used her death to rally the Marcher mages to her cause, and then…

Which was where Evie’s analysis fell apart, because she didn’t know what Fiona was going to do after that. Without the Conclave there was no one to bargain with for mage rights. Maybe, maybe, Fiona was hoping that the new Divine would be more sympathetic to their plight, although Evie couldn’t imagine how that would be possible if the mages were responsible for killing the previous one.

“So what brings a Tevinter – are you a magister, or are you something else?” she asked the man who’d unwittingly sat beside her. He was impressively pretty and well dressed, and his grey eyes sparkled with something like mischief. Evie assumed from the rings, which looked not dissimilar to her own, that he was a mage.

“I am not a magister, thank you for knowing,” he replied. “I am an altus. An altus is--”

“An heir to the magisterium, yeah,” Evie interrupted. Rather than look offended she’d interrupted him, the Tevinter altus stared at her in complete shock. And then his expression changed, morphed like he was almost…flattered she knew how the Tevinter Imperium worked. “I was part of the College of Libertarians. I made it a point to study how Tevinter worked with its mages so I could see if it would be useful for reforms here.”

“How did that go?” he asked. He sounded like he knew the answer.

“Any system that’s been tried by Tevinter would never go over well in the south,” Evie said. “The association’s too bad.”

“Yes, I did assume,” the man replied. “I’m Dorian, by the way. Scion of House Pavus.”

“I’m Evelyn,” Evie replied. “Former Senior Enchanter of the Ostwick Circle.”

“ _Senior_ Enchanter?” Dorian repeated, his eyes going wide. “But you’re…”

Evie grimaced and finally pushed the hood off her face. Her hair fell over her shoulder in a mass of copper and she knew it was a matter of a day before she needed to find a comb or lop it all off. She hoped for the comb.

“You’re twenty,” Dorian said. “How could you possibly be a Senior Enchanter?”

“I’m twenty-six,” Evie protested.

“Oh I do so apologise,” Dorian said.

“I did my harrowing ten years ago,” Evie said. “I’ve been in the Circle eighteen years. The general consensus amongst the First Enchanters of the Free Marches was that I am one of the most talented and powerful mages to come out of the Ostwick Circle.”

“One of? Who could possibly compare to that?” Dorian asked.

“Madame Vivienne de Fer,” Evie said, unable to keep the eye-roll out of her voice while she said it. “Not that she _stayed_ in Ostwick, mind, so I’m not sure why she still gets to count.”

It was a petty difference, and Evie knew it. Vivienne de Fer was absolutely one of the most technically talented mages in Thedas, and Evie knew that. But Vivienne was also the sort of woman who played magic for politics, and Evie was entirely done with having her existence be political.

“Wait a moment,” Dorian said, looking like he was coming around to some grand conclusion. For just a moment, Evie wondered what it might be, and then realised. “Evelyn, a Senior Enchanter of the Ostwick Circle. Evelyn _Trevelyan_?”

Evie sighed, but nodded once.

“But your thesis on the application of ancient magical techniques left over from the ancient Imperium and the ancient _elvhen_ was revolutionary!” Dorian exclaimed. He was loud enough that Evie shushed him. “I had no idea you were this young and charming.”

“Thanks,” Evie said. She searched her memory of articles and papers written in the past few years that might have borne the name Dorian Pavus but came up empty. “I don’t suppose you have any scholarship I might have read?”

“No, my most recent mentor was…he refused to publish any of our research,” Dorian said. He sighed and drank from his stein. Fereldan beer really was terrible, in Evie’s opinion. She’d have killed for proper Marcher ale that used wild yeast, rather than the intensely cultivated stuff they kept about in Fereldan brewhouses.

“What was it on?” Evie asked.

“Time,” Dorian said, with just the ghost of a smile. Evie felt her eyebrows raise higher up her forehead. Dorian nodded. “Actually, that’s why I’m here. And then the sky exploded.”

“Why are you here?” Evie asked.

“My former mentor, a man called Gereon Alexius, has come south with a group of his…well he joined a cult,” Dorian said. “And they’ve come south. They have some intention regarding the rebel mages, and I intend to find out what.”

Evie groaned. That was the last thing Fiona needed. A Tevinter Magister swooping in and offering her something she couldn’t refuse.

“You’re familiar with the rebellion, I assume?” Dorian asked.

“Who do you think tried to kill me?” Evie replied, flagging down the bartender for a new pint. It might have been terrible, but it was better than sobriety. “Fiona just _insisted_ I go to the Conclave to voice her opinion. Thankfully, I was late.”

“We can always be thankful someone as lovely as yourself survived,” Dorian replied. He flirted without thinking about it, Evie decided. It was like breathing, as natural to him as fire was to her.

“Thank you, Altus Pavus,” Evie replied. “But yes, I am quite familiar with the rebellion.”

“I don’t suppose you’d want to help me figure out what Alexius is up to,” Dorian said. “I could use someone with a brain like yours and a connection to the rebels.”

Evie smiled. She couldn’t do anything about the hole in the sky, but she could surely help Dorian stop Fiona from doing whatever it was she had planned.

“It would be my honour,” Evie said.

“Excellent,” Dorian said. “How far is it to Redcliffe?”

“Most of a day’s ride,” Evie said. “We ought to get going.”

“Yes, I quite agree,” Dorian said. He dropped a few coins on the bar and pulled his hood back up. Evie did the same, and followed him out into the rain.

* * *

* * *

 

Max stared up at the fade rift. It was at least thirty feet up, crackling with the same strange green light that was flaring off his hand. The others he’d passed had extinguished when he tried, so he didn’t really have a reason to think this one wouldn’t, but this one was…

“Why is it so big?” Varric asked, looking up at the rift with the same semi-disgusted, semi-horrified expression Max wore.

“This is the first rift,” Solas said. “If we can close this one, then perhaps we close the Breach.”

“No pressure or anything,” Max said. He took a deep breath. “Okay, how do I get up there?”

“We have to find a way down,” Cassandra said, and she started the charge around the outskirts of what had once been the most sacred place in Thedas. Max exchanged a look with Varric and then followed.

The glowing green crystals around the edges of the Temple gave him chills. He didn’t like to think about where they’d come from – the Fade, clearly – or why they were there. It all had something to do with the Divine’s death, which he was pretty sure he might have witnessed. But he couldn’t remember.

And then a glowing red crystal made him stop dead in his tracks.

Varric breathed in, taking a step away from the crystal.

“Seeker, you know this stuff is red lyrium,” he said.

“I’m aware, Varric,” Cassandra replied. Max could hear her roll her eyes, and at some point – assuming he survived whatever was about to happen to him – he’d need to get the full story from Varric about why it was Cassandra hated him.

“But what’s it doing here?” Varric demanded.

“I don’t know,” Cassandra admitted, which Max thought was big of her. He didn’t tell Cassandra that.

“Red lyrium?” Max asked.

“We had a problem with it in Kirkwall,” Varric said. “The Knight-Commander of our templars sort of…turned into it.”

“Turned _into_ red lyrium?” Max asked, gaping at Varric.

It wasn’t just the conclave then. All of Thedas had gone mad.

Well at least that was good to know.

“Yeah,” Varric said. “It was…unpleasant.”

“We should keep moving,” Solas said, shuffling them both forward towards Cassandra. Max agreed and followed. He didn’t really want to spend his last moments alive hearing stories about templars turning into lyrium.

Cassandra led them down what had probably been a flight of stairs, and towards the rift. Max shuddered. The ground below them was full of corpses that had been turned immediately to the same green fade crystal as the temple itself. They hadn’t even fallen. They were still…smoking.

“Someone! Help me!”

The bodiless voice echoed through the chamber, and Max grabbed his daggers without thinking. Varric’s grip tightened on Bianca. Solas’s staff sparked. The only person who didn’t immediately reach for a weapon was Cassandra.

“That was Most Holy,” she said. “But how--”

“Keep the sacrifice still!”

“Someone! Help me!”

“What the hell is going on here?”

Max recognised his own voice and shuddered. He…he almost remembered walking into a room before the explosion. He almost remembered the Divine calling for help. But it was like trying to hold onto a dream he’d forgotten when he woke in the middle of the night. It was fading and ephemeral and – and it was gone.

“Go! Warn them!” the Divine’s voice rang out again.

“The Divine called out to you,” Cassandra said. Her voice was almost reverent while she looked at Max for an explanation that he didn’t have.

“Let’s just close the Breach,” Max said, and his hand sparked to punctuate the idea. “Before this thing kills me.”

Cassandra agreed, and they jumped down from the ledge.

 


	3. A Rough Introduction pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which alliances are formed.

Ellana crept after the mages from the tavern. She didn’t know what was going on – something about the Divine dying, which she supposed had also happened at the explosion. Which was why she was following them. The woman had said she knew who killed the Divine, and therefore that same person was responsible for killing Mahanon, and Ellana was going to figure out who that person was.

The shemlen mages were slow and cautious. They were by far the slowest prey Ellana had ever tracked and she didn’t like it. But mages outside clans tended to be suspicious and nervous, so she couldn’t just bound up to them and ask them what they knew. They’d probably panic and bespell her.

The biggest problem Ellana had tracking them was that her nug wouldn’t be quiet. When they made camp for the night near a small lake, Ellana darted up the nearest evergreen tree and brought Fenlen with her, but Fenlen did not like being up a tree, Ellana discovered. Fenlen disliked that very much. Surface nugs were a new phenomenon, she remembered. They’d only existed in the Deep Roads before the Fifth Blight, and now they were everywhere. There weren’t flying nugs yet, or sky nugs, so of course Fenlen would be upset and nervous about it, she realised.

“I’m so sorry,  _ lethallin, _ ” she whispered, hugging him close so he might stop squeaking and give away her position.

It took most of the evening, but finally, he fell asleep in Ellana’s arms, and when he did, she let herself drift off as well.

She woke, sometime later, when the branch she was on snapped.

She wasn’t that high up, but the fall still hurt and Fenlen squeaked horribly when she hit the ground. He scampered around, squeaking, kicking up the loam of the woods until he bounced directly into the greave of one of the shemlen mages.

“Is this your…what is this, exactly?” he asked, picking Fenlen up. He had two hands around his middle like one might awkwardly hold a baby, and Fenlen squirmed and squeaked until the mage dropped him. Fenlen ran directly to Ellana, who scooped him up and stood. She’d have to get a sling for him so she could fire arrows at the same time.

“He’s a nug,” Ellana said.

“A…yes, well, sure,” the mage replied. “Why have you been following us since the tavern?”

Ellana felt her face burn. She managed to draw herself upright long enough to scan both of them more closely. He was older than she was, but not by a significant amount. The woman looked like she was probably the same age as Ellana, but Ellana could never really tell with humans.

“We might not be Dalish hunters, but the lives we lead have given us a well-founded amount of paranoia,” the woman added.

Ellana considered her answer. She didn’t know what to tell them. They didn’t seem openly hostile, but members of her clan had been ruined by shemlen for thinking that before. But these were mages, and Ellana had heard how the shems treated their mages. It wasn’t all too different from how they treated the city elves.

A snapping branch behind her caused her ears to twitch, turning a little towards the sound.

Without thinking, she tossed Fenlen at the man and drew her bow. She had an arrow knocked before she’d even turned around all the way. She let it fly before the angry, helmeted hunters could say anything.

Of course, that was when everything went wrong. The arrow didn’t hit either of them, but collided with the snow-laden branch above them and doused them in snow so quickly it blinded them. In the moment of distraction, one of them went up in flames, and when the other ran screaming into the distance, Ellana managed to actually hit him this time.

When she put her bow down, she discovered the female mage holding her staff at the ready, while the male held Fenlen and looked mildly impressed.

“You noticed them before we did and we were looking that direction,” he said, handing Fenlen back to her.

Ellana grimaced and felt her ears droop at the same time. Most elves didn’t have ears like hers. Hers were unusually large and responsive, and she’d spent most of her childhood nicknamed “halla ears” in the unkindest way possible. Mahanon was the only one who’d never called her that.

“I can hear well,” Ellana said.

“Well since we can assume you’re not working with the templars,” the woman said. “Why are you following us?”

“You said at the tavern that you knew who killed the Divine and exploded the Conclave,” Ellana said. “I want to know who it was.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re a Dalish elf,” the man said. “Why do you care?”

“My best friend was at the Conclave,” Ellana said. “He died there.”

She could see them trying to figure out how an elf had a best friend who would be invited to a Chantry Conclave, and decided to help them out before they needed to ask.

“Spying,” she said. “We were spying on the Conclave.”

They nodded in comprehension.

“Where is your clan from?” the woman asked.

“The Free Marches,” Ellana said. “Near Ostwick.”

The woman blinked, and Ellana noticed she had incredibly green eyes, like veridium in sunlight.

“Clan Lavellan,” she said. “You’re part of Clan Lavellan?”

“Yes,” Ellana said. “Why do you--”

“I’m from Ostwick,” the woman said. “My name’s Evelyn. This is my friend Dorian.”

“I’m Ellana,” she said. “Did you know people at the Conclave as well?”

“As much as we’d love to discuss this with you, perhaps we could move somewhere that hasn’t been recently ambushed by templars,” Dorian suggested.

Ellana and Evelyn agreed, and while the mages collected their things, Ellana put Fenlen down so he could walk for himself. He trotted alongside her while the three of them headed north, closer to a place she learned was called Redcliffe. Neither of them had lost people at the Conclave – that they knew of, anyway. Evelyn was fairly convinced someone from her family might have been sent as a delegate, but the only person she’d heard from in her family for the past eighteen years was one of her brothers, and she hadn’t been receiving mail since the mage rebellion started.

The problem, they explained, was that they were pretty sure mages had to be responsible for the explosion at the Conclave in some way, since it would take an impressive amount of magic to pull off the hole in the veil that spat demons. And the mages – Evelyn’s mages, as Ellana decided to think of them – were in a bad position and might do something foolish, like ally with a Tevinter – Dorian’s mages – cult called the Venatori. They could, Evelyn conceded, walk into Redcliffe Castle, challenge Fiona to a duel, and claim her head in retribution for the explosion, but that suggestion made both Dorian and Ellana pale.

“Not that I’m not all for retribution,” Dorian said. “But I believe there might be something bigger going on here than just the Conclave.”

“What makes you say that?” Evelyn asked.

“Well for one, the Venatori started moving south well before the Conclave had even been called. I’d call that fairly suspicious,” he replied. “Now we just have to figure out what to do about it.”

* * *

* * *

 

Varric was a good listener. It was one of his finer qualities if he did say so himself – and he had to because most of his friends were scattered across Thedas and he wanted them that way. They were safer, being literally anywhere besides where he was at that moment.

And Varric had seen some shit in the past day and a half. The Conclave had exploded – which actually made the Seeker let him go – and then some kid had fallen out of the fade with a mark on his hand, and the same kid had made the Breach stop spreading.

Granted, he was now unconscious in a cabin across the village from Varric’s haunt in the tavern, but something told him that the kid was going to wake up. He was a fighter, whether he wanted to be or not.

“…stepped out of the fade.”

“No way. You’re telling me someone was in the Conclave and  _ survived _ ?”

“I am. Stepped right out of the fade, and I heard? I heard it was Andraste herself who pushed him out.”

“So what’s he then? Some kind of herald for Andraste?”

“I dunno. Maybe.”

Varric sighed, and took another drink of his ale. He wasn’t really a fan of Fereldan beer. It was too light, and it took too much of it to do the job properly.

A herald for Andraste. He sort of hoped the kid woke up, just to hear that.

* * *

* * *

 

Max grimaced when light finally reached him. He was getting tired of this whole “losing his memory and waking up in strange places with a bad headache” thing. It reminded him too much of the year he was nineteen. Or, well, too much of what he remembered of the year he was nineteen. Most of that was entirely gone.

He sat up and stretched, pressing his hands to his temples – delighted to find he still  _ had  _ a left hand – and realised he wasn’t alone.

“You’re awake!” the elf squeaked, dropping to the ground in…

“Are you – are you bowing?” Max asked.

“Seeker Pentaghast said you were to report to the Chantry,” the elf said. “At once.”

“Erm, okay, but why are you bowing?” Max asked.

“At once, she said!” And the elf ran off.

Entirely at a loss, Max pulled himself to his feet and looked around the cabin. It was small, but this was Haven so of course it was small, and someone had left a few papers on the desk. The one on top started with “day three” and continued with “patient observations” and Max put it down.

If he’d been unconscious three days, and he still had a left hand, then that must mean the attack on the Breach had worked. It might be gone. At the very least, it hadn’t swallowed the world entirely, which was the best news he’d had in a very long time.

At a loss for anything better to do, Max stepped out into the harsh light of Haven. To his complete confusion, there were people lining the sides of the pathways, and they were all staring at him. It made him feel a little like he’d shown up at a banquet in nothing but his small clothes again. When the person nearest him gasped, he couldn’t stop himself from checking to see that he was actually clothed. He was, but unfortunately that didn’t shed any light on the situation.

Even worse, there was still green light playing off the metal helmets of the soldiers that lined the paths, and when he looked up, there was the Breach, still spiralling menacingly in the sky. It looked like the eye of a hurricane, shedding destruction around it, but there, in the eye, everything was so much worse. At the very, very least, it wasn’t spreading.

Ever conscious of the people staring at him, Max walked down the path. They were whispering on either side of him, but he could only catch every few words. Something about “that’s him” and “herald of Andraste.” As much as Max wanted to turn and demand an explanation from that person, the one who’d called him the Herald of Andraste, he figured he’d rather get to the chantry and hear it from Cassandra, who he imagined was fuming.

Of course, as soon as he stepped into the chantry, he could hear raised voices.

“Have you gone completely mad?” the angry chancellor Max had met earlier shouted. “He should be in chains! Drag him off to Val Royeaux for execution!”

“He is the only hope we have of closing the Breach once and for all!” Cassandra shouted back, which was…unexpected.

“Besides, it’s not like he’s a rebel mage,” a new voice said. “As far as we know, he doesn’t even know any mages.”

_ You don’t know very much then _ , Max thought, but continued to lean outside the door to eavesdrop. He’d rather know what his position was walking in.

“The point remains that  _ someone _ attacked the Divine and  _ someone  _ blew up the entire Conclave, and the idea that  _ someone else _ might be the only one to survive is preposterous!” the chancellor exclaimed.

“We heard the Divine’s voice inside the Temple,” Leliana said. Unlike the others, her voice was calm and quiet, and as always, much deadlier. “She called out to him for assistance.”

“Coincidence!” the chancellor shouted.

“If you are going to be pig-headed, you will be made to leave,” Cassandra said, and Max had to jump back when the door banged open and the chancellor stormed out. He paused to snarl at Max, who waved, and then stalked the length of the nave and out into Haven.

“Oh good, you’re here,” Cassandra said, grabbing Max by the elbow and dragging him into the small room where she and Leliana had spread a map of southern Thedas across a table. Max caught sight of raven-crested operational markers, key-crested markers, and ones topped with the pommel of a sword.

“Lord Trevelyan, it is a pleasure to meet you,” an Antivan woman said from across the table. Max took note of her writing board and her perfectly neat appearance and wondered how much she liked being in Haven, which – had it not been for the Temple of Sacred Ashes – would be the most Maker forsaken place in Thedas. “My name is Josephine Montilyet. I believe you are related to Lucille Trevelyan?”

“Yes, my great-aunt,” Max said. He wanted to know why there was an Antivan diplomat in Haven, talking to him, but the other people in the room seemed to find it self-evident. “The first Antivan to marry into the Trevelyans.”

“Yes, she always threw such wonderful parties,” Josephine enthused, and Max could only give her a very weak smile.

“I was never allowed to go,” he said.

Josephine’s smile dimmed for a moment, and she looked to Cassandra for help. Max wondered how often the diplomat had needed to look to the soldier for social cues. It couldn’t have been a frequent occurrence.

“Lady Montilyet is our ambassador,” Cassandra said. “And I believe you’ve already met Commander Cullen.”

“It was only briefly on the battlefield,” the commander said, and Max’s breath caught. He was two or three years older than Max, and two or three inches taller, and the dark burgundy lion’s mane that decorated the collar of his coat did little to mask the cut of his jaw or the curl of his golden hair. Max wasn’t sure whether he wanted to get caught staring at the scar on the man’s lip or the spot of demon ichor still on the sculpted cheekbone.

Honestly, he didn’t mean to stare at all, but he got caught anyway.

“Have I got something on my face?” the man asked, concern clouding his dazzling amber eyes.

“Erm, sorry, yes you’ve got blood,” Max said, tapping his own cheek and trying not to grimace visibly. Straight. The absurdly handsome curly haired man was so straight it radiated off him in waves of testosterone and military issue soap.

Commander Cullen brushed it off his cheek and nodded his thanks at Max.

“Cullen is in charge of our forces,” Cassandra said. “And of course, you know Leliana.”

“My position requires a bit more finesse and secrecy,” Leliana said.

“She is our--” Cassandra started.

“Spymaster,” Max said, because he knew what Leliana was. He knew intimately what Leliana was. If he’d been in possession of blue eyes instead of green it would’ve been like looking into a carnival mirror that turned him into a woman.

“Tactfully put,” Leliana said, her voice flat but a little resigned.

“So if you’ve got a commander, an ambassador, and a spymaster,” Max said. “And you’ve got Chantry soldiers that aren’t templars, and you’ve got a war room and a major problem like a massive hole in the sky and the complete dissolution of the Circles of Magi and the templar order, you’re starting an Inquisition.”

“How could you possibly--” Cassandra started.

“I’m the youngest brother,” Max said. “I got sent to all the lessons no one else wanted to take. I got made to do all the things no one else wanted to do. Do you know much about the Trevelyans outside of Antiva, Lady Montilyet?”

“We haven’t had many encounters, I’m afraid,” Josephine replied. “But I believe there are cadet branches of the family in Nevarra and even Tevinter, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Your study of heraldry does you great credit,” Max replied, grateful that was the only thing she seemed to know about the Trevelyans.

“Thank you, Lord Trevelyan,” Josephine said, nodding at him.

“But yes, we are forming an Inquisition,” Cassandra said. “Under the orders of Divine Justinia. And as our first order of business needs to be closing the Breach, we will need your help.”

“It doesn’t hurt that the people have started to call you the Herald of Andraste,” Josephine said.

“Yeah, I overheard that,” Max said. “Why are they doing that?”

“When you were pushed out of the fade,” Leliana said. “They say there was a woman with you, which you yourself admitted. And some have decided that that woman was Andraste herself.”

Max barely remembered the woman from the fade, so he didn’t know enough to refute it.

“The chantry in Val Royeaux has already declared you a charlatan, and we heretics for allying with you,” Josephine continued.

“Heresy’s new,” Max said before he could stop himself. This drew confused looks from everyone aside from Leliana, who pressed her lips together and looked away. Leliana, he suddenly felt sure, knew a great deal more about the Trevelyans than Josephine.

“Erm, yeah, so how do we shut the Breach?” Max asked.

“You mean you’ll help us?” Cassandra asked, as if that had been in doubt.

Max blinked, and then looked at her. They were almost the same height, which he found a little unsettling since he wasn’t precisely short.

“If I’m the only one who can shut it? And it’s spitting out fade rifts and demons and terrorising people?” Max asked. “I don’t care if they’re calling me Havard’s earthly reincarnation, of course I’ll help.”

“I’ll admit, that is a relief,” Cassandra said.

“Did you think I was going to swan off and go back to Ostwick?” Max asked. “’Good luck closing the Breach, I’ll just take my weird glowing hand with me, and leave the only person who seems to know anything about it back with the Inquisition, bye’?”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Cassandra said.

Max sighed and glanced at Leliana to see if she was expecting his next admission. “If my choices are stay here and probably die but also maybe keep the world from being consumed by demons, or go home and certainly die, I’ll stay here.”

Leliana didn’t look surprised at all, but Josephine gasped.

“So what’s our next move? How do we close the Breach?”

“According to Solas, your mark needs more power,” Cassandra said. “A lot more power.”

“No, sure, because nothing bad ever happened from pouring magic into an unknown piece of…whatever the hell is on my hand,” Max replied. “Sure.”

“Which is why we should approach the templars for aid,” Cullen said, and Max swore internally. Not just straight and unreasonably handsome, but a  _ templar _ . “They can use their abilities to dampen the Breach.”

“And I still think we should approach the rebel mages,” Leliana said.

“Yeah, that sounds better,” Max agreed, earning him glowers and put out looks from Cassandra and Cullen.

“Either way, we don’t have the necessary clout to approach either party,” Josephine said. “But there is a chantry cleric in the Hinterlands around Redcliffe who wishes to speak to the Herald of Andraste. She may know a way we can reach out to either group.”

“Great, so I’ll go talk to her,” Max said.

“The Hinterlands are currently being torn apart by factions of both the templars and the rebel mages,” Leliana said. “It is not a particularly safe place to travel.”

“I will go with him,” Cassandra offered.

“And if there’s a place for me to get better knives, I won’t turn that down,” Max said.

“Talk to Harritt,” Cullen recommended. “He’s the blacksmith in Haven. Remarkably skilled for someone…”

“For someone who’s from Haven?” Max suggested.

Cullen nodded, but looked embarrassed that he’d been about to say it.

“I’ll talk to him,” Max said. “Anything else?”

“While you’re in the Hinterlands, see if there are ways we can spread the Inquisition’s influence,” Leliana said. “We want to be taken seriously, so we will need to develop a reputation. Quickly.”

“Consider it done,” Max replied. “If that’s everything?”

“Speak to me in my office before you leave, if you wouldn’t mind,” Josephine said, and their war council dispersed.

“I will go prepare for the journey to the Hinterlands,” Cassandra said.

Max nodded, and followed Josephine to a small office adjacent to the war room. She sat behind a desk, mostly ignoring the elf in the corner looking at pieces of…

“Are those shade scales?” Max asked, looking at the table she was working on.

“Yes,” the elf replied. “I’m Researcher Minaeve. I look into the creatures the Inquisition encounters and find better ways to…well, to defend against them.”

“Good to know,” Max said. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Th-thank you,” Minaeve said, sounding surprised that he would do anything like that.

“Lord Trevelyan?” Josephine called, and Max returned to her desk.

“Yes, Ambassador Montilyet,” he said, because he was going to call her by increasingly lofty titles until she caved and called him Max.

“I was wondering if it mightn’t be a good idea to contact the rest of the Trevelyans and ask them to offer their support to the Inquisition,” she said.

Max couldn’t help the derisive snort that came out of him.

“I’m – I’m sorry, is that not a good idea?” Josephine asked, taken aback.

“I can think of very little that might be actively worse for the Inquisition’s reputation,” Max said. Josephine looked horribly confused, so Max relented. “The greatest achievements of the Trevelyans in the past ten years include my eldest sister Annabelle marrying the son of Ostwick’s Teyrn, my brother Isaac, current Bann Trevelyan, making a powerplay for Kirkwall after the Viscount was executed by the Qunari, and also attempting to have the last remaining member of Starkhaven’s royal family murdered so that we could take  _ that  _ over as well, and when that failed, he tried to marry my sister Miriam off to Prince Vael, and when  _ that  _ didn’t work, he banished her to Orlais so she could play the Game. Our other notable achievements include working our way out of paying a life-debt to the Antivan Crows by sending the family assassin to assist with their destruction.”

Josephine stared at him for so long that Max was pretty sure she’d forgotten how to blink.

“Is – is your family Andrastian, at least?” Josephine asked. If she didn’t blink soon, Max worried for her continued ability to see.

“Oh, devoutly,” Max said.

Josephine deflated and finally blinked. “Oh, well that’s a relie--”

“So devout, in fact, that they decided to pretend for perpetuity that my twin sister doesn’t exist,” Max said.

“And who is your twin sister?” Josephine demanded, nearly shrill.

“Lady Evelyn Trevelyan, Senior Enchanter of the Ostwick Circle, and last I heard, the rallying point for the Free Marches’ rebel mages,” Max said. “Aside from the apostate who blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall, of course.”

Max decided not to mention that the last time he’d heard from Evelyn, it had been a letter that told him of Ostwick’s final vote to rebel – they voted yes, overwhelmingly – and Evelyn and the College of Libertarians’ efforts to help smuggle the mage Anders to safety. Josephine was already making a noise like a teakettle whistling in distress and he didn’t want to add to it if he could avoid it, especially since it was already his fault.

“Perhaps I will leave your family name out of all official correspondence,” Josephine said finally.

“That would probably be for the best,” Max agreed. “So. The Hinterlands?”

* * *

* * *

 

Dorian, Evelyn, and Ellana perched on a high outcropping of rock looking down over a small valley of farms. Evelyn, to Dorian’s frustration, had refused to go anywhere near the rebellion in Redcliffe proper, since their leader had tried to have her killed and Evelyn, Dorian had discovered, had a flair for the dramatic and wanted to reveal her survival at the most important moment. Since Alexius and the rest of the Venatori hadn’t shown up yet either, Dorian was willing to wait. Ella, however, kept bouncing. Dorian had never met anyone with so much energy. The calmest thing about her was her pet nug, Fenlen, and nugs were not renowned for their placidity.

“Now who are these supposed to be?” Evelyn asked, peering down into the farmlands while a group of soldiers set up a camp. “They’re not templars.”

“And they’re not mages,” Dorian added.

“And they’re not the chantry,” Ella added, since she could actually make out the heraldry from their position. “It’s an eye with a sword through it, and fire around it.”

“No, that’s not chantry,” Evie agreed. “It sounds almost like the Seekers of Truth.”

“The what?” Dorian asked, because that sounded impossibly ominous as far as he was concerned.

Evie sighed dramatically. “The Seekers of Truth. They’re…they’re like the templar’s scarier older brother that lurks in the shadows and calls all the shots. They’re not very well known.”

“Then why do you know about them?” Ella asked. Dorian had never met anyone with eyes so blue they were almost purple before, but it was the only possible description of Ella’s giant elf eyes. He wondered, not for the first time, how old she was, but it was impolite to ask. He’d get Evie to do it the next time Ella offered to plait her hair.

“I spent a few years in solitary confinement with nothing but books and the fade to keep me company,” Evie said.

“I’m sorry, what?” Dorian asked. He knew Evelyn Trevelyan by reputation, as her publication had caused great scandal in the College of Magi in Minrathous – reinvigorating the valid scholarship of elven magic didn’t usually go over well in Tevinter – but he didn’t know anything about her as a woman. The name Trevelyan was somewhat familiar in itself, but he was fairly certain that was because it cropped up somewhere in the larger Pavus family tree, married to his father’s second cousin or something similar.

“Just after my harrowing actually,” Evie said. “It was solitary confinement or tranquillity, so.”

Dorian couldn’t fathom what she might have done to earn such punishment, and didn’t particularly want to ask while they were spying on the Seekers of Truth.

A little while later, the soldiers were joined by a smaller group who looked like they meant business. Even Dorian could see that, and he didn’t have Ella’s vision. They were blood-splattered, and after the four of them washed the blood off in the small pond next to their camp, they marched across the farms to a house they’d learned belonged to the best horse master in all of Ferelden, and left with a quartet of horses, before galloping off again.

“We need to figure out who these people are,” Evie said when they’d retreated to their cave base for the night. Dorian loathed the cave, and was very vocal about it, which made both Evie and Ella laugh at him. In his defence, the only one of them who truly enjoyed the cave was Fenlen.

“I thought you said they were the Seekers of Truth,” Dorian replied.

“I said it sounded like the Seekers of Truth, but it’s not quite the right symbol,” Evie said. “It’s close, but there’s something off. For one, there aren’t miscellaneous soldiers in the Seekers of Truth. They’re an elite band.”

“We could kidnap one of the soldiers,” Ella suggested, perching behind Evie and undoing the long braid she’d put in it the night before. Evie let her add some smaller braids, before weaving them all together into an elaborate plait that wouldn’t have been entirely out of place in a Tevinter party, so long as she first added an unreasonable number of precious gems.

“Let’s hold off on kidnapping anyone,” Evie said.

“I just want to do  _ something _ ,” Ella complained, tying off Evie’s hair and sprawling on the ground of the cave. Fenlen trotted over and lay across her stomach.

“Maybe tomorrow we can go into the crossroads and figure out who these people are,” Evie said.

“I’m noticeably Tevene, and Ella is noticeably Dalish,” Dorian pointed out, gesturing at his own face as an example. The Fereldans just didn’t have the same style he did. He hadn’t seen a well-groomed moustache since he crossed the Waking Sea and it was starting to drive him mad.

“There are elves,” Ella protested. “There are elves all over Ferelden.”

“But they don’t have your lovely…erm…” He gestured at his face again, at a loss for the correct term for her tattoos. He just knew the term wasn’t “tattoo.”

“Vallaslin,” Ella supplied.

“Who does yours represent?” Evie asked, as always more generally knowledgeable. It was one point Dorian could give to the southern mages’ favour; their system of Circles full of libraries did lead to an awful lot of general study.

“Ghilan’nain,” Ella said. “The mother of halla.”

“The white deer things?” Dorian asked.

“Yeah,” Ella said. She sat up and stroked Fenlen’s ears. The nug squeaked and burrowed closer to her. Dorian didn’t think nugs were traditionally kept as pets, but the thing seemed as devoted to Ella as he’d ever seen anyone get. “The other people my age in my clan called me Halla Ears when we were children. They stopped when I embraced it and took Ghilan’nain as my chosen goddess.”

“And you’re…not a child anymore?” Dorian asked tentatively. It was impossible to tell an elf’s age just by looking at them, which was frustrating to say the least.

Ella’s ears twitched, and Dorian hoped it was in amusement. She’d grown on him in the days they’d been together.

“I’m twenty-eight,” Ella said.

“No,” Evie gasped, turning to stare at her. “Are you really?”

Ella nodded. “How old are you? I can never tell how old humans are just by looking at them.”

“I will be thirty in Frumentum,” Dorian said. “And dearest Evelyn is twenty-six.”

Evie still looked entirely shocked, like she’d been caught in the crossfire of an electric bolt, that Ella was older than her. She didn’t look any less stunned as the night wound on and they agreed that in the morning, Evie, as the most inconspicuous of them, would go into the crossroads and ask why the Seekers of Truth – or people who looked like them – were wandering around the Hinterlands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Varric be a consistent narrator in this fic? Not really.  
> Will he mostly crop up in letters to Hawke? yes.  
>  ~~will that get really [something] after the events of Adamant Fortress? Oh boy.~~  
>  Did I make Dorian a Scorpio? You fucking bet!
> 
>  _But why such constant hate on Fereldan beer, Hayley?_ Because Ferelden is based on England and anyone who makes me drink English beer deserves their own special circle of hell.


	4. The Herald of Andraste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evie, Dorian, and Ella scout the Inquisition. 
> 
> Max finds more in Orlais than he meant to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, I'm not entirely sure anyone is reading this? Except my beta reader, who has not given me her comments on this chapter yet, so here it is a day late and unedited, but on the other hand, no one cares! So it's perfect. And I am talking to myself. Cool. 
> 
> Side note, if you are actually reading this? Please say something?

“Why do you hate Val Royeaux?” Varric asked as the four of them rode east. They were all in poor spirits, Max decided, since between them they had maybe one sovereign’s worth or respect for the Orlesian capital. Max sort of expected that from Solas, and maybe from Varric as a fellow Marcher, but Cassandra’s loathing surprised him.

“Is it bad if I say it’s mostly because it’s full of Orlesians?” Max asked.

“In this we are agreed,” Solas said.

“Still pissed about the Dales, Chuckles?” Varric asked.

“Would you not be incensed about the slaughter and enslavement of your people, even centuries later?” Solas asked.

“I thought you didn’t consider yourself part of the Dalish,” Max said, twisting on his horse so he could look at Solas while he answered.

“I do not,” Solas confirmed. “But I am still an elf, as are they.”

Max could parse through Solas’s apparent self-loathing later, he decided while they broke to make camp. He stayed up to look over the map, as well as Leliana’s notes on who they could expect to see at the Chantry assembly, and noticed after a while that Cassandra was still awake as well, poring over a book with rapt attention. Max hadn’t figured her for a big reader.

“What are you reading?” he asked quietly, both so he wouldn’t startle her and also wouldn’t wake Solas or Varric.

“Nothing,” Cassandra said, snapping the book shut and tucking it into her pack.

“Erm, you sure?” Max asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You know it occurs to me,” she said, and could not have been changing the subject more clearly if she’d stated aloud that it was a subject change. “I do not know much about you.”

“What’s there to know?” Max asked. “I’m the youngest child of five, I’m from Ostwick, I’m the official family disappointment. It’s fairly straightforward.”

Cassandra bristled for a moment, and then seemed to make a conscious effort to relax.

“Everyone has started calling you the Herald of Andraste, but do you even believe in the Maker?” she asked.

“Sure,” Max said. “House Trevelyan makes sizeable donations to the Ostwick Chantry every possible opportunity it gets.”

“But do you have faith?” Cassandra asked.

Max sighed and put his map and notes in his bag. “I used to,” he said.

Cassandra considered him across the fire, her face pensive. “May I ask?”

“I stopped for a while when I was a child,” Max said. “My sister…my twin is a mage. Was, maybe. I don’t know, I haven’t heard from her since the Ostwick Circle fell.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Cassandra said.

Max shrugged it off. He was trying not to think about Evie. It hurt too much.

“But she still had faith,” he said. “Apparently she used to plague the chantry sisters at the Circle. And because she still believed, I could for a while too, but…with some of the things I’ve seen, the things I’ve done, it makes faith very, very difficult.”

“But isn’t faith about holding onto that belief despite the things we encounter?” Cassandra asked. “Isn’t our faith meant to withstand tests?”

Max huffed. At some point it was probably meant to be a laugh, but it lost too much enthusiasm during transmission from lungs to mouth to count as one.

“There are tests of faith, and then there’s my brother,” Max said. He didn’t give Cassandra a chance to ask after that, and stood, collecting his pack. “Good night, Cassandra.”

She echoed the sentiment, but didn’t say anything else while he crawled into his tent.

They reached Val Royeaux not too many days later, and arrived right in time to hear a chantry mother decrying everything about the Inquisition and their Herald of Andraste. Max was prepared to ignore it until the leader of the Seekers of Truth had her knocked out cold and announced that the Templar Order would be leaving Orlais in the hands of the Maker. Even when Cassandra tried to call him back, he simply collected the Templars and left.

“What was that about?” Varric asked, staring after the Templars in disgust.

“I have no idea,” Cassandra said.

“Seeker Pentaghast, I understand him to be the leader of your order,” Solas prompted.

“I have never known Lord Seeker Lucius to act this way,” Cassandra said. “I have no idea what might drive him to this.”

“We’ll just have to find out, I guess,” Max said, as confused as the rest of them. “Do we want to follow them?”

“We probably should, shouldn’t we?” Cassandra asked.

She started to lead the way across the summer bazaar only to draw short when an arrow landed in front of them. Cautiously, Max untied the note from the shaft.

“It’s a treasure hunt,” he said, showing it around. “Or something.”

“A treasure hunt?” Cassandra asked, taking the paper and scanning it.

“I’m going to go tell Sister Nightingale’s people to track down the templars,” Varric said. “Seeker, perhaps you’d like to seek out the clues to the treasure hunt?”

Cassandra bristled and wouldn’t meet Varric’s eye. “Perhaps I will,” she said.

Varric nodded once and headed towards the scout they’d met at the entrance to the bazaar while Cassandra stalked off towards the docks. Max glanced at Solas, entirely at a loss for conversation.

“It is a pretty city, at the very least,” Solas said, gazing around the bazaar. “I wonder what memories it might hold.”

“You’re not going to go find a corner to kip in, are you?” Max asked.

Solas frowned at him, and Max was only saved by a man trying to flag him down.

“I believe that messenger is looking for you,” Solas said, his voice curt. Max grimaced internally but headed to the messenger nonetheless.

“Are you the Herald of Andraste?” the messenger asked.

“That’s what they tell me,” Max replied.

“An invitation for you, from Madame de Fer,” the messenger said, handing him a gilded invitation and bowing with a great deal of ceremony before vanishing into the bazaar. Max almost wanted to track him down and ask how he’d managed to disappear so completely and without any apparent use of smoke grenades, but as the man had vanished, it was impossible.

“We’re to meet these…friends of Red Jenny in an alleyway tonight,” Cassandra said, arriving to show Max the clues she’d uncovered. “It seems highly suspect.”

“Sounds like my kind of people,” Max replied, which got him frowns from both Cassandra and Solas. He wanted Varric to come back, right that instant.

Fortunately, he did, and Max was saved.

“The nightingale’s people have been informed,” Varric said. “Shall we find ourselves somewhere to sleep before we head back to Haven tomorrow?”

“We’ve got a few appointments, I’m afraid,” Max said, holding up the pieces of paper. “Then we can leave Orlais.”

Varric nodded and the four of them started to leave the bazaar. They’d barely started down the Avenue of Her Reflective Thought when an elf stepped in front of them. She carried herself differently than most elves Max had met, with the possible exception of Solas. She was not a woman who would be given to taking orders, but rather seemed like she’d be the one giving them.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?” Cassandra asked.

The elf nodded once in Cassandra’s direction and then focused her attention on Max.

“You are the Herald of Andraste?” she asked.

“You’re the leader of the rebellion,” Max replied, a spike of hope growing in his chest. “Have there been many refugees from Ostwick?”

Fiona blinked and leaned slightly away from his enthusiasm.

“There have been a substantial number of mages from the Free Marches to join our cause, yes,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

“Do you know Evelyn Trevelyan?” Max asked. He could feel his pulse racing in his chest. He hadn’t heard anything about Evie in six months, but now he had the leader of the mage rebellion in front of him, so surely if anyone would have heard…

“I’m – I’m sorry,” Fiona said, her eyes clouding slightly. “She was a talented mage and a remarkable organiser. I – I sent her to the Conclave in my stead.”

Max felt his desolation in his shoulders first, when they went slack, and then he started to collapse downwards. The only thing that stopped him were Cassandra and Varric grabbing him by the elbows and propping him up.

“You were her brother?” Fiona asked, and Max found he couldn’t actually look at her without immediately blaming her for Evie’s death. He settled for nodding. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“You should be,” he muttered. He cleared his throat and propped himself up on his own two feet, rather than Cassandra and Varric’s good graces. “And what can the Inquisition do for the mage rebellion, Grand Enchanter?”

“We may be able to offer assistance in closing the breach,” Fiona said. “Come to Redcliffe. We wish to discuss everything in less…hostile…environments.”

And like she hadn’t just thrown a grenade into his life, Fiona melted back into the surroundings of the summer bazaar and left Max with Varric, Cassandra, and Solas and the knowledge that Evie, who he hadn’t seen in eighteen years, was dead.

* * *

* * *

 

Evie took the journey to the crossroads cautiously. Every time she or Dorian or Ella had ventured out of their hideout since they found it, they’d been ambushed by mercenaries, by bandits, by rogue templars, by rebel mages who didn’t recognise one of their own. She kept her staff at the ready, and stayed alert, but she wasn’t as wary as she might have been. She was the youngest senior enchanter, possibly ever, for a reason.

But there weren’t any bandits. There were no mercenaries. The templars didn’t emerge from their encampment on the shores of the river, and the rebels who’d broken with the main group didn’t descend from the witchwood. It had been a while since Evie had been this confused, and she didn’t like it.

At the edges of the crossroads she found the flags. The flaming eye with a sword through it that Ella had been able to pick out stood clear as day from the dun coloured banners, along with the text, “under the protection off the Inquisition.” Evie mouthed the words in confusion, and headed into the crossroads.

It took her breath away.

Where only days before, there had been refugees cowering in burning buildings, there were soldiers and scouts helping distribute blankets, there were hunters passing around food, and there was an enchanter packing a bag by the side of the road. It was her Evie approached first.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to startle you, but what’s…” Evie didn’t even know how to phrase the question. No one had stopped her from walking into the crossroads. None of the soldiers had even drawn swords.

“New?” the enchanter asked. “And not one of the rebels I take it?”

“Erm, no,” Evie lied, because as far as the rebels were concerned, she was dead, and this woman clearly was not one of the rebels.

“You weren’t at Kinloch though,” the enchanter said.

“Ostwick,” Evie said cautiously. “I’m Adela. You?”

“Enchanter Ellendra,” she said. She smiled curiously at Evie’s still stunned expression. “Haven’t you heard of the Inquisition?”

“No,” Evie said. “I’ve been hiding.”

“Well they’re doing good work,” Ellendra said. “The Herald of Andraste in particular.”

“Sorry, the Herald of Andraste?” Evie asked.

“He’s the good sort,” Ellendra said. “And so young.”

“He? How is he the Herald of Andraste?” Evie asked, unable to comprehend what she was hearing.

Ellendra looked at her like surely Evie had lost her mind.

“Haven’t you heard what happened at the Conclave?” she asked. Evie shook her head. “The Breach opened and killed everyone, of course, but one man survived. Andraste herself pushed him out of the fade. He can close the fade rifts, and now he’s leading the Inquisition.”

“Sorry, he was _in_ the fade?” Evie asked. “Physically in the fade?”

Ellendra shrugged and seemed far less concerned about that than she should’ve been.

“Leading the Inquisition to do what, exactly?” Evie asked.

“Close the Breach,” Ellendra said. “I’ve joined them. I’m sure they could use more mages, if you wanted to join as well.”

Evie promised to consider it and wandered through the crossroads for a while talking to people. There was an elf who said that the Herald of Andraste himself had gone to the mountains and found a potion for his wife’s breathing condition. The hunters said the Herald of Andraste had helped them hunt down rams to give people dinner. An Inquisition recruit told her that the Herald had tracked down supply caches that belonged to the apostates so that they could distribute blankets to the refugees. And that was the other thing – the Herald had cleared out the apostates from the witchwood, the templars from the river, the bandits from the road, and even a band of mercenaries.

Evie returned to their hideout that evening more confused than she had been when she left.

“So? What are the Seekers of Truth doing?” Dorian asked, lounging on his bedroll and watching while Ella scaled the cave walls. Evie had spent a lot of time in the Circle, but even she had never seen someone so bored and full of energy that they’d actually started climbing the walls.

“It almost makes you want to send her for a sprint up the mountainside, doesn’t it,” Dorian whispered when he noticed Evie watching their elven friend as well.

“I heard that,” Ella called before she let go of the wall and did a backflip to land in the centre of the cave. “So what did you find out?”

“It’s not the Seekers of Truth,” Evie said. “It’s the Inquisition.”

Dorian sat up properly and stared at her. “The Inquisition? That sounds…bad.”

“To me too,” Evie agreed. “Except…”

She recounted the list of deeds the supposed Herald of Andraste had undertaken to both Dorian and Ella’s general astonishment.

“He sounds like an alright sort,” Ella said, sitting cross-legged next to their fire with Fenlen in her lap.

“And apparently he can close the fade rifts,” Evie said.

“Handy,” Dorian said.

Evie nodded, and then sighed. “There’s something else, and you’re not going to like it.”

“Which of us isn’t going to like it?” Ella asked.

“Both, probably,” Evie said. “I eavesdropped on some of the Inquisition’s scouts and apparently a large force from Tevinter is occupying the town of Redcliffe.”

“How is that possible?” Dorian asked. “We’ve been watching the road for weeks. There hasn’t even been an advance – oh.”

“Oh?” Evie asked.

Dorian stood up and started pacing the length of the cave, which prompted Ella to stand and start pacing with him. Fenlen took it as a cue to drape himself across Evie’s legs instead, as he was the least active and most pampered nug Evie had ever encountered.

“The magic Alexius and I worked on together, back in Tevinter,” Dorian said. “It was time magic.”

“And what? You think Alexius bent time to get to Redcliffe without people noticing?” Evie asked.

“It’s possible,” Dorian said, which made Evie desperately nervous. “But the question is why? Why would he want to?”

Dorian paced a moment more, and then stopped so quickly Ella ran into him.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I have to find Felix,” Dorian announced, and then he disappeared into the night.

* * *

* * *

 

Evie kept swearing under her breath while they tracked Dorian through the Hinterlands. Ellana kept shushing her, but humans had proved to be more stubborn than any of the elves Ellana knew, and Evie kept right on swearing.

“Felix had better be his one true love the way he bolted out of there,” Evie grumbled, picking a piece of spindleweed off her trousers.

“Do you believe in that?” Ellana asked, tipping her head sideways.

Evie stopped picking the spindleweed off her clothing and looked up at Ellana instead. “Do I believe in what?”

“People having one true love,” Ellana asked.

“Oh,” Evie said. “No.” Then she shifted her weight. “Yes.” She squinted like she did when she was thinking. “Maybe.” Finally, she shrugged. “I dunno. It’s just all the fairy stories, isn’t it?”

Ellana shrugged as well and picked Fenlen up. Evie had wanted to leave him in the cave, but Ellana wasn’t sure if there would be hunters around, or if Dorian would even consent to return to their cave, so she wasn’t going to leave him there.

“Dorian’s trail continues over there,” Ellana said, pointing across the stream and leading the way.

The followed the banks of the river past a log jam and along a course of rapids until they hit a cliff overlooking a waterfall and a windmill. In the distance, Ellana saw a castle that glowed with warm lights and seemed like it might be a nice place to be on a cold night. The aravels were a lot of things, but well-heated was not one of them. Closer to their position, there was a town along the edge of the lake, lights burning in the houses, but almost no people. Human towns were always full of people wandering around and talking to each other, but this one was quiet. Too quiet.

“Where is everyone?” Ellana whispered.

“I don’t know,” Evie replied. “Where the hell did he go?”

“Don’t ask me,” Ellana said. “He’s a Tevinter mage. That’s the opposite of a Dalish elf.”

Evie conceded the point and then pulled the hood of her cloak up over her hair. It didn’t glow the same way Ellana’s did, but it definitely still glowed. Ellana followed her lead and tucked Fenlen into the sling she’d made to carry him before they climbed down the cliff under the windmill and into the town.

They were silent walking along the narrow streets, and kept to the shadows, listening. Ellana overheard the whispered conversations of families, and the chatter of groups holed up in their houses. She didn’t know what to listen for aside from Dorian’s voice, and if this Felix he was looking for really was a lover like Evie hoped, then she wouldn’t necessarily be hearing his speaking voice and she wasn’t sure she could accurately pick him out from noises alone yet. That would take another couple months.

She did hear someone coming up behind them, though.

She tapped Evie’s elbow and glanced pointedly behind them without actually turning. Evie nodded and took better hold of her staff. Ellana knocked an arrow and as one, they turned on the Tevinter guard coming towards them. He drew a sword, but in the same breath, Ellana let go of her arrow. It missed him by a mile, but buried itself in a stack of pottery that made an awful sound as it fell in on itself and spooked a cat across the road, which bolted into an already precarious barrel, and that tipped into a poorly angled ladder, which fell slowly at first, then gained momentum until it crashed directly into the guard’s head and knocked him unconscious in the middle of the way.

Evie lowered her staff slowly, and then turned to look at Ellana with obvious bafflement in her eyes.

“How?” she asked.

“I sank an island once,” Ellana offered, which wasn’t an answer, but since she didn’t really have an answer, it would have to do. “I have questionable luck and was born under a weird star.”

Evie took a moment to process that, then shook it off and pulled the ladder off the guard.

“Get his ankles,” she commanded. Ellana complied.

Together, they dragged him off the road and propped him against a pillar where he might seem to be sleeping off drink. It was probably a less convincing display since they also stole his sword and pitched his dented helmet in the lake.

“What are you going to do with the sword?” Ellana asked.

“I dunno, stab people?” Evie suggested, which Ellana accepted as a reasonable use for a sword. “Have you heard him yet?”

“No,” Ellana said. She listened closely to the night around them. The trees on the edges of the town were whispering in the faint wind, the small waves of Lake Calenhad were burbling against the shore, the fires in everyone’s hearths crackled merrily, but none of the voices speaking sounded like Dorian. He was gone.

* * *

* * *

 

Dorian paced along the nave of Redcliffe’s Chantry, pausing every so often to look at Felix. He looked sicker than the last time Dorian had seen him, which made Dorian’s heart ache.

“He’s made a deal with someone,” Felix said. “I don’t know who.”

“But why come _here_? Is he hoping to steal the mage rebellion?” Dorian asked.

“Hoping to?” Felix replied. “He already has. He signed a deal with Grand Enchanter Fiona days ago.”

“Days a – you weren’t even _here_ days ago!” Dorian exclaimed. He rubbed his temples in the hopes that something useful would come out of his brain if he just pressed hard enough. “If he’s made a deal with the mage rebellion, why haven’t they left Redcliffe?”

“He’s waiting for the Herald of Andraste,” Felix said. “Whoever he made a deal with, whoever’s leading the Venatori, they want something from the Herald.”

“And who is this Herald of Andraste?” Dorian asked. “I’ve only just heard about him in the past day or so.”

“I don’t know who he is, exactly,” Felix said. “Just that he’s got the power to close the Breach.”

“Which must be why Alexius and whoever he’s working for wants him,” Dorian finished. He paced again, thinking. “And Alexius is waiting for him to come for the mage rebellion, presumably because he’ll need more power to actually close the Breach, and the rebel mages are the most ready source of that power.”

“It never was comforting when you could finish my father’s thoughts for him,” Felix said.

Dorian waved him off and kept pacing. If the Herald of Andraste was really Alexius’s target, and he was coming to Redcliffe to parlay as Alexius seemed to assume, Dorian needed to tell him that it was a trap. It would obviously be easier to do if he knew what the trap was or what it was for, but he’d have to play that by ear.

His train of thought was cut short by the chantry door opening and Evie and Ella bursting in, looking cross. He realised after a moment that it was with him.

“Oh,” he said.

“Who are your…friends, Dorian?” Felix asked.

Dorian grimaced when Evie smacked him in the arm. He supposed he deserved it. The last time he’d had anything that resembled a friend, it had been when he’d been Alexius’s protegee and he had Felix. He was unused to the concept at this point.

“Senior Enchanter Evelyn Trevelyan, late of Ostwick, and Ellana Lavellan,” Dorian said. “Ladies, my friend Felix Alexius.”

“Are you that easy to follow, Dorian?” Felix asked. “If you are, you should run before my father finds out you’re here.”

“He’s not, actually,” Evie said. “Ella’s just the best tracker anyone’s found yet.”

Ella smiled, her ears perking as she did. Dorian tried and failed not to find it charming.

“So why did you bolt out of there?” Evie asked.

“I figured Felix might know why Alexius and his Venatori are here, and he does,” Dorian said. “They’re looking for the Herald of Andraste.”

“Ah,” Evie said. “Lucky man. A whole greeting party, just waiting for him.”

“I was thinking I should – perhaps we – should warn him that Alexius is planning to use him, not just the rebel mages,” Dorian said. “Apparently Grand Enchanter Fiona’s signed them over to Tevinter, en masse.”

He remembered, a split second after he said it, that Evie had been one of the rebels until the Conclave. She knew Grand Enchanter Fiona, and was fairly well convinced that Grand Enchanter Fiona had sent her to the Conclave hoping it would result in Evie’s death.

“After we warn this Herald that your old mentor wants his head on a platter, I’m going to kill Fiona,” Evie said. Her eyes lit up and she turned to Ella. “That’s what the sword is for!”

“What sword?” Dorian asked, slightly concerned.

“Can I help?” Ella asked, ignoring him completely. Evie agreed, and they both turned back to Dorian with matching bright and unnerving smiles.

Felix looked between the women with a level of concern in his eyes that Dorian found unwarranted, but Felix didn’t know Evie or Ella as well as he did. Although Dorian felt certain they would kill if the situation called for it, he felt sure that the situation would have to call for it first. Felix didn’t have that sort of reassurance.

“Ella’s best friend died at the Conclave, and Evie was supposed to die there,” Dorian translated. Felix nodded, but not like he understood. More like he was trying to appease a madman. Dorian wondered if there was a way he could turn the whole conversation into a mathematical equation to make it more Felix’s language.

“So now what do we do?” Ella asked.

“I think we have to wait for the Herald to show up,” Dorian said.

Ella deflated so completely she went from standing to seated on the floor in a matter of seconds. “More waiting?”

“I’m afraid so,” Dorian said.

Felix promised to pass the message along as soon as he caught sight of the Herald, and left the three of them to wait in the chantry.

They waited for days, and took turns sneaking out to steal food. Ella proved most adept at this particular adventure, which Dorian thought just reinforced stereotypes but he wasn’t going to bring it up if it meant he got fresh bread and a wheel of cheese out of the bargain.

They’d been hiding in the chantry nearly a week when Dorian heard a strange crackling noise. It was followed by a sound most reminiscent of a sheet being torn in half by brute force, or a rock being shorn by lighting. Dorian turned from where he’d been contemplating the stained glass behind the altar to see a slice of green hanging in the middle of nothing down the central nave of the chantry.

As Dorian stared at it without comprehension, it started to widen, spreading until it was wide enough for a body to come through.

“Is that…” Evie started, standing next to him and staring at the thing with the same dull horror he was sure was on his own face.

“It’s one of those fade rifts, isn’t it?” Ella asked, joining them and staring at it as well.

“The Herald of Andraste can close them, right?” Evie asked.

“I hope so,” Dorian replied. “Because I can’t help but notice that it’s in between us and the door.”

 

 


	5. Family Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the mage rebellion meets the Inquisition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for commenting! And interacting with the fic! I appreciate it so much. 
> 
> As with Sunday, my beta reader is MIA and also lives 7500 kilometres away from me, so I kind of can't check up. Please point out any glaring errors.
> 
> Also, warning for very slightly referenced past abuse. See the end notes for clarification.

Max didn’t speak to the others on the way back from Val Royeaux. He was aware of them whispering together, but he didn’t join in the conversation and he didn’t respond to direct questions while they rode west. Fortunately, their two new recruits – Sera and Vivienne – had promised to make their own way to Haven since they had business to wrap up in Val Royeaux before they could depart and join the Inquisition. Max wasn’t sure what he would’ve done if he’d needed to present a good public face for the journey back.

As it was, all he could think about while they rode south was Evie.

The day they’d discovered her magic, they’d been on the beach in Ostwick, playing their favourite make believe game, which was a recreation of Andraste on the pyre. Isaac had called them morbid, even back then, and in retrospect he’d taken that fact of Max’s personality to heart. Max was Havard, in the recreation, and Evie was, of course, Andraste herself. But that day, they’d forgotten the fire, and even though Max had gone to get the flint, they suddenly found themselves surrounded by flames, all of which had started at Evie.

He hadn’t actually seen her since that day, eighteen years ago. She wasn’t permitted to leave the Circle. At first Max had assumed this was a restriction placed on her by the Circle itself, but when he was sixteen and his father died, and Isaac took over the family, he learned that this was an imposition the Trevelyans had placed on her. She wasn’t allowed to have visitors either, but nothing Isaac did could stop Max writing to her. He was thrilled when the rebellion broke out because it meant that maybe, finally, Evie would get to be free for some part of her life, but now she was…

The night they got back to Haven, Max let Cassandra make excuses for him to Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen while he barricaded himself in his cabin. He’d been there for maybe twenty minutes, in a real bed with a blanket over him and a pillow squished over his face, before he heard someone let themselves in and grab the seat at his desk.

He tried not to glare daggers when he pulled the pillow off his face, but the first thing that greeted him was a glass of amber liquid, and beyond that, Varric’s face.

“My brother died,” Varric said, setting the bottle down on Max’s desk and pouring himself a glass once Max sat up to accept his own. “A few years ago now. We did what we could but the red lyrium had driven him crazy and in the end it was the only thing we could do.”

Max took a drink and stared at Varric in despair.

“It’s not the same situation, Maker knows it’s nothing similar, but you’re not alone,” he said. They drank in silence for a minute, and then Varric spoke again. “Do you want to talk about her?”

“I hadn’t seen her in eighteen years,” Max said. “As soon as my family figured out she had magic, they locked her away in the circle and she wasn’t allowed out again, or to have visitors.”

“Not even Kirkwall was that bad,” Varric said. “At least not at first.”

Max shook his head. “It wasn’t the Circle’s rule, it was my father’s, and then my brother’s. They couldn’t have people talking about the fact the Trevelyans had a mage in the family. But she was brilliant. She was made Senior Enchanter when she was twenty-four. The youngest ever. And if my brother bothered to pay attention to what goes on in the Circle communities, he’d have noticed she was famous within them, but he doesn’t.”

“But you did,” Varric guessed.

Max shrugged. “Most of the reading went over my head, but it was nice to read that she was always an active part of the mage community. She was one of the leaders of the rebellion in the Marches.”

Varric sat there and let Max talk about Evie for most of the night, interrupting every so often to fill their glasses. When he finally left, Max felt better about everything, but still didn’t feel good for the ride to Redcliffe to discuss the terms of their arrangement with Fiona.

He felt worse when the gates of Redcliffe were barred by a fade rift.

“Maker, I hate these things,” Max groaned, getting off his horse and drawing his daggers. Cassandra, Varric, and Solas just grunted in agreement and took up defensive positions.

As always, the rift crackled and started spawning demons, the tall, leggy ones that tended to vanish into the fade and reappear directly beneath people, which were Max’s least favourite type. But when one of them appeared beneath him and knocked him backwards, before it had the grace to disintegrate into muck from the poison on his knife, it knocked him into a circle of green. Outside the circle, Max could see Varric and Cassandra and Solas fighting with what seemed like unnatural speed. In the time it took Max to stab the terror to death, they’d taken out the rest of the things themselves.

“What was that?” Max demanded, bracing his hands on his knees to catch his breath as the fade rift spluttered shut.

“It appears as though this rift bent time around it,” Solas said. As always, he sounded perfectly calm, but Max thought he could pick out a note of something that was adjacent to confusion and concern.

“I’m not as up to date on my magical scholarship as I should be considering the turn my life has taken, but that’s bad, right?” Max asked.

“I would say very,” Solas agreed.

Max nodded and sheathed his knives while a guard ran by, proclaiming that the rift was gone and they should open the gates. They had barely taken a step into Redcliffe when one of the inquisition scouts ran up to them.

“Your worship,” he said, tossing Max a salute. Max winced, but didn’t correct him. “We spread word that the Inquisition was coming, but you should know – no one was expecting us.”

“No one?” Cassandra asked.

“What about Grand Enchanter Fiona?” Max asked.

“If she is, she’s not talking,” the scout said. “The meeting’s been arranged for the tavern down the way.”

“Thanks,” Max said. The scout saluted again and returned to his post.

They only made it a few more yards into Redcliffe before a mage ran up to them. Max resisted the urge to swear.

“Inquisition,” the mage said, bowing slightly. “Welcome to Redcliffe. Unfortunately, Grand Enchanter Fiona is no longer in a position to negotiate on behalf of the rebel mages. Magister Alexius is in charge now, and will be arriving shortly.”

“Sorry, did you say ‘Magister’?” Max asked, glancing at Cassandra, Varric, and Solas to see if they’d heard the same thing he had. “As in ‘Tevinter Magister’?”

The mage inclined his head again. “Right this way.”

Max was reticent to follow, to go talk to a Tevinter magister about mages, but something very wrong was going on in Redcliffe, and he needed to find out what. If for no other reason than these were Evie’s people, and even if she was gone, he owed it to her memory to do right by them. He had a feeling that “doing right by the mage rebellion” didn’t include letting them fall into the thrall of a Tevinter magister.

To Max’s surprise, Fiona was present in the Gull and Lantern when they walked in, but she had no memory of meeting them in Val Royeaux. She claimed she hadn’t been there since before the Conclave, and apologised again for Evie’s death.

“She was our best logistician,” Fiona said. “It was a tragedy to lose her.”

Max managed not to snarl at her, mostly because she was so different from the woman he’d met in Val Royeaux. The Fiona he’d met there hadn’t been breakable, and this one was already broken.

And then he met Magister Gereon Alexius. The way Fiona flinched when he walked over to their table sent a wave of déjà vu through Max, full of memories of himself flinching the same way whenever his brother Isaac walked into the room. Maybe there was no point in trying to negotiate with Alexius, because maybe Max was going to stick a knife through his eye instead.

Perhaps sensing Max’s burgeoning homicidal tendencies, Cassandra took the lead in the negotiations. This unsettled Alexius ( _Good,_ Max thought savagely) who kept looking to Max to jump into the conversation. Max’s death glare also seemed to unsettle him.

They hadn’t got very far before a young man entered the tavern and started to make his way over to their table.

“My son, Felix,” Alexius said, gesturing proudly at him.

Max scanned the man in question. He was pale, but not in the way of someone who preferred to dwell in doors. More like someone who suffered an illness that wouldn’t leave him alone. That impression was worsened by the shadows under Felix’s eyes, and the way he stumbled as soon as he got to the table. Max only just managed to catch him, and felt a piece of paper slip into his hand. Alexius immediately rushed to Felix’s side, apologising to the Inquisition that they’d have to continue their negotiations later.

Max waited until they were gone before unfolding the paper.

“Come to the chantry, you’re in danger,” he read. He handed the paper to Cassandra. “I guess we’re going to the chantry then.”

* * *

* * *

 

“I. Hate. These. Things!” Evie shouted, punctuating each word with a fireblast at one of the wisps trying to kill them. Her energy was flagging, and she did not have any lyrium potions. Ella was actually hitting the things she aimed at while she raced around the chantry trying to get clear of Dorian and Evie before she fired. Dorian looked as tired as Evie felt, sweat beading on his brow, and his spells losing power with each strike.

A shade slithered up and swiped at Evie’s face. Out of desperation and frustration, she smacked it between the…eye?…with the head of her staff. It made a horrid squawking sound and she walloped it upside the…head?…again. 

“The fucking Herald better get here soon or we’re going to die!” Evie exclaimed, kicking something that felt like a breastplate beneath her boot and sending the shade slithering backwards right into one of Ella’s arrows.

“Did someone say something about the Herald?”

Evie let herself lose concentration for long enough to look at the door of the chantry. A group of four people had just walked in and were adjusting to the situation quickly. The dwarf in their party drew a crossbow, the elf readied a staff, the very tall woman readied her shield and a sword, and the man drew a set of daggers.

“Oh good, you’re finally here!” Dorian said. “Help us close this, will you?”

Evie brushed sweat off her forehead, trying to get a clearer image of their rescue party, but they were all obscured by the fade rift. They had barely a moment to breathe before the thing started spitting out tendrils again.

Having reinforcements gave them a second – or third, or fourth – wind. As Evie burnt the wisps to a crisp and Dorian electrocuted them, the Herald sent a bolt of green fade energy back into the rift. As the last long-legged demon dissolved back into the fade, the rift snapped shut, and the seven of them were finally able to get a good visual on the situation.

Evie collapsed against a pillar and slowly sank to a seated position on the floor. They’d been fighting the rift for hours, and she was not in particularly good fighting shape. Dorian seemed to be only slightly better off than she was, since he didn’t sink to the ground, just leaned against one of the columns. Ella was so exhausted she actually managed to stand still.

“I’m assuming you all sent the note through Felix?” the man asked.

“Yes, he’s a good sort,” Dorian replied. “I take it you’re all the Inquisition?”

“We’re part of it,” the man said, and Evie frowned. Something about his voice was strangely familiar, like something she’d heard as a child. But he wasn’t a mage, and he wasn’t a templar, so she wouldn’t have known him at the circle. She scanned him then, looking for any signs of familiarity.

He was tall, probably a few inches taller than Dorian but just barely taller than the woman wearing the Seeker of Truth emblem on her breastplate. His skin was faintly golden like he spent a lot of time in the sun, which had also added brass highlights to his otherwise copper hair. A strange feeling started somewhere in Evie’s sternum.

She stood on shaky legs and stepped towards him. In the poor light of the chantry, it was hard to tell if his eyes were really as green as they looked from afar, but when she got close enough, the strange feeling spread upwards, nearly constricting her throat. It wasn’t possible. Not at all. But at the same time…

“You look just like me,” she said quietly, unaware until that moment that the Herald of Andraste had been speaking to Dorian.

“I look…” He trailed off when he took in her appearance for the first time. “But that’s not possible.”

“Max,” Evie said softly. “Maxwell Trevelyan.”

Max’s eyes opened so wide she was surprised they didn’t pop out of his head.

“Evie?” he breathed.

She wasn’t sure which of them hugged first, but in less than a second she was wrapped in the tightest bear hug she’d ever experienced and was squeezing Max back just as tightly.

“—thought you were dead!”

“—the Herald of Andraste?”

“—did you escape the Conclave?”

“—doing this far south?”

Their torrent of questions tumbled over each other in nonsensical sequence. Evie was somewhat aware of the others staring at them, but didn’t remotely care. Their words washed each other out until finally they synchronised on, “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Um, Giggles, want to explain?” a man Evie assumed was the dwarf based on the timbre of his voice asked.

“Sorry!” Max exclaimed, and half let go of Evie. He kept one arm tightly around her shoulders, which was just fine by her since she wasn’t letting go either. She’d never thought she’d see Max again. She hadn’t heard from him since just before the circle in Ostwick fell – which was partly her own fault for being on the move, she knew – and she’d assumed Isaac would send someone to the Conclave. She had also assumed that there wasn’t a chance in hell of Isaac going himself or sending Annabelle or Miriam, which meant Max. she hadn’t really realised she’d been assuming Max was dead until she saw him alive.

“Varric, Cassandra, Solas, my sister, Evelyn Trevelyan,” Max said. “Evie, these are some of the major leaders of the Inquisition, Varric Tethras, Cassandra Pentaghast, and, erm, Solas.”

Evie blinked and focused on the dwarf for a moment. “Varric Tethras?”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Varric said, nodding at her. “And Giggles is over the moon to know you’re still alive.”

“You’re Giggles?” Evie asked, glancing at Max in amusement. She got distracted from what she was going to say to Varric by staring at Max. She hadn’t physically seen him in eighteen years. She knew that she had managed to turn out exactly like the portrait of their mother that she had in her locket, at least physically, but for some reason she hadn’t expected Max to carry the same traits aside from their colouring. But when he grinned at her, his cheek dimpled, and the freckles across his nose were just the same.

“Someone has to be,” Max said. He finally stopped staring at her long enough to remember Dorian and Ella were in the room as well. “And who are your friends?”

“Dorian Pavus,” Evie said, gesturing to him, “and Ellana Lavellan. The nug’s name is Fenlen.”

“Fenlen?” Solas repeated, eyeing Ella in ways Evie didn’t care for. “You named a nug Wolf Cub?”

“ _Aneth ara, lethallin_ ,” Ella replied, and, concerningly, Evie noticed her eyes were narrowed. “Didn’t think there’d be one of the people in the Inquisition.”

Solas said something back in elvish that Evie didn’t understand, but it just made Ella’s eyes narrow further.

“You sent the note to say the Herald was in danger,” Cassandra said, interrupting the elves’ mistrustful staring.

“Ah, yes,” Dorian said. “Alexius may have come here and stolen the mage rebellion out from under you, but he’s not here for them. He’s here for you.”

“How did he do that, do you all know?” Max asked. “Grand Enchanter Fiona didn’t even remember meeting us in Val Royeaux.”

“You met Grand Enchanter Fiona?” Evie asked.

“We thought we did, but then when we got here, she said she hadn’t been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave,” Varric supplied.

“Oh, it was quite simple really,” Dorian said. “Alexius bent time to get here before you.”

“Just to get to me? And here I didn’t get him anything,” Max replied. Despite the casual tone of voice, he kept his arm securely clamped around Evie’s shoulders.

“Send him a fruit basket,” Dorian suggested. “Everyone likes those.”

It was decided there in the chantry that the Inquisition couldn’t allow the mage rebellion to fall into Tevinter’s hands, which was a notion Evie fully agreed with. The problem was they didn’t know how to get the rebellion back. An answer arrived in the form of Felix, who shared the news that Alexius was extending an open invitation to the Herald of Andraste to come visit him in his fortress at Redcliffe to continue their negotiations.

“We’ll have to discuss a plan of attack back in Haven,” Max said. “It’s the Inquisition’s base of operations.”

“Well if you’re going up against Alexius, I’m coming,” Dorian said, shouldering his staff.

“And if you’re dealing with the mage rebellion, you need me,” Evie said. “I want to see the look on Fiona’s face when she realises I survived.”

She didn’t understand the concerned look Max gave her, but she could ask later.

“And your goal is to find and destroy the person who blew up the Conclave, isn’t it?” Ella asked.

“Generally,” Max agreed. “Somewhere along the way to closing the Breach.”

Ella nodded, and declared that she was coming too. And like that, they were all on their way to Haven.

* * *

* * *

 

_H –_

_The weirdest shit happens to this kid. I don’t think you’ll actually believe me. He fell out of the fade – he was physically_ in _the fade – he can close those fade rifts, and his twin sister just came back from the dead. Oh, and a Tevinter cult time travelled in order to talk to him._

_Also speaking of that sister, she says she and I have mutual friends – a force mage and a healer she helped smuggle through Ostwick at some point a few years ago. I’m not sure if her helping Blondie means I should or shouldn’t trust her, but then again, I still trust you._

_Take care of yourself._

_V_

* * *

* * *

 

Dorian’s plans for stopping Alexius hadn’t actually included joining the Inquisition. He had figured that somehow he, Evie, and Ella would manage to talk the Herald of Andraste into kicking Alexius back to Tevinter, and then they’d go their merry separate ways, since Evie needed to deal with the rebellion and Ella needed revenge.

And then the Herald of Andraste was Evie’s twin brother.

Dorian was no fool, he knew that objectively Evelyn was a stunning woman who had the potential to paralyse the unwary in their tracks with just the shape of her cheekbones, but as he’d only ever been attracted to men, he’d managed to stay safe. But of course, Evie had a twin. Clearly, they weren’t identical, but they seemed to be as similar as fraternal twins could get, down to the fire that crackled through them. Not that Dorian was willing to join the Inquisition solely on the basis of Max Trevelyan’s cheekbones, but perhaps with the addition of his razor’s edge jawline and sharp green eyes and incongruously soft mouth…

“You’re staring,” a voice whispered.

Dorian startled enough that his horse’s ears twitched. The Inquisition had been kind enough to find horses for the three of them, and now Evie was riding ahead with her brother, both of them shimmering in the sunlight. In the month Dorian had known Evie, he hadn’t seen her smile. Now with Max at her side, she beamed.

“I was not staring,” Dorian whispered back, which got him a nearly malicious giggle from Ella.

“It’s okay,” she said. “He is pretty.”

Dorian gave her a flat look which just got her to giggle harder. “And what about you and the other elf? Solas?”

Ella’s giggles stopped immediately and her ears flattened in what Dorian assumed was anger.

“I don’t trust him,” she said. “No city elf speaks elvish, and no Dalish would get to be his age without vallaslin.”

“And he insulted Fenlen,” Dorian said, glancing down at the nug, whose head was sticking out of Ella’s saddlebag.

“And he insulted Fenlen,” Ella agreed.

Dorian nodded sagely in understanding, which he felt he actually might, and then their conversation was interrupted by Cassandra bringing her horse up next to them.

“So, mage,” she started, and Dorian just knew it was going to be a riveting conversation. “You are from Tevinter.”

“I am,” Dorian agreed. He wished Evie were closer, close enough to hear the conversation at least. He felt confident Max would forgive her for lighting Cassandra on fire, but possibly not Dorian.

“We hear odd stories of templars in the Imperium,” Cassandra said, and the tension went out of Dorian’s shoulders.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “All true.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t even told you what I’ve heard.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dorian said. “All true. Particularly the part with the grapes and the feathers.”

Cassandra leaned back in her saddle like she was considering this, a slightly floored look on her face. “Oh. I was leading to that one, actually.”

“Everyone does eventually,” Dorian replied.

“Seeker, are you asking our new Tevinter friend for dirty stories?” Varric rode up to them and neatly squished Cassandra between himself and Dorian. “I am hurt that you wouldn’t come to me first!”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise and spurred her horse on ahead.

Dorian stared after her for a moment and then turned to Varric. “You have quite the way with women.”

Varric shrugged. “Everyone has to have some skill. If mine is getting Cassandra to leave people alone, I figure it’s worth something.”

Dorian smiled. “How did you come to be involved in the Inquisition, Varric?”

“Oh, you know, the usual way,” Varric said. “Cassandra had me kidnapped and forcibly dragged here to help her find the Champion of Kirkwall.”

Dorian blinked, not entirely sure if Varric was joking. When Varric smiled cheerfully, Dorian realised he was being entirely truthful. He didn’t really want to think about Cassandra kidnapping people – that was a terrifying nightmare waiting to happen right there – and instead turned his attention to asking Varric about his work. For the remainder of the ride, Varric happily strung him along on the idea that he was an unsuccessful author, and as Dorian had never heard of any of his books, he was even inclined to believe him until they finally reached the gates of Haven and Evie pulled up next to them in time to inform Dorian that Varric’s book _Hard in Hightown_ had recently surpassed Brother Genitivi’s _Travels of a Chantry Scholar_ as the best-selling book in southern Thedas.

“Ruin my fun, Firefly,” Varric scolded, and Evie laughed. It was remarkable how wonderful a mood she’d been in since they discovered Max Trevelyan.

“No one’s called me that in years,” she said. “Did our mutual friends tell you about that?”

“You don’t seriously think our mutual friends could come up with an actual nickname on their own, do you?” Varric replied. “It’s not every day you get a letter asking what a good nickname for a pyromancer might be.”

Evie laughed again, and climbed off her horse.

“I think we have time for everyone to get a little settled and rested before we meet with the advisors,” Max said, leading the way to the stables. “Right Cassandra?”

“I suppose,” Cassandra said.

“Is there a place to take a bath?” Evie asked, handing the reins of her horse over to one of the stable hands.

“I can show you,” Cassandra offered, although she sounded grudging.

“I could use one too,” Ella said, bounding off her horse in a fluid motion that looked the way poetry sounded before grabbing Fenlen from her saddlebag and following Cassandra and Evie.

“What about you, Sparkler?” Varric asked.

Dorian took a moment to realise Varric was addressing him, and then considered his options. Solas had vanished as soon as they’d reached the stables, but Dorian hadn’t got the impression there were a lot of people Solas liked.

“Where does a man go for a drink around here?” Dorian asked.

“Right this way,” Varric said, clapping him on the shoulder and starting to lead him towards the gates. “You coming, Giggles?”

“If it gives me an excuse to avoid the trio that dictates my life currently? Wouldn’t miss it,” Max said, joining them on their walk to Haven’s sole tavern. It was smaller even than the place Dorian had met Evie and Ella, and had somehow managed to stick a bard next to the fireplace. The room was small enough that her voice filled the whole place without any effort. Dorian just hoped she wasn’t a traditional Orlesian bard.

Max waved at the bartender and she nodded back before appearing at their table with three pints.

“On the house, your worship,” she said, winking bawdily at Max before returning to the bar.

A filthy giggle sounded from the next table over and an elf invited herself to their table. She was a city elf, Dorian could tell that much, as she was lacking any vallaslin and was dressed in the rattiest of human fashions. She was wearing yellow plaidweave, and it made Dorian’s sensibilities ache, although not as much as her obviously self-cut hair.

“I think she likes you,” the elf said, elbowing Max pointedly. “I think she wants to know how well Andraste endows her heralds.”

“Sera,” Max said in greeting.

“You’re looking more cheerful than you were in Val Royeaux,” Sera said. “What gives? And who’s the flashy one?”

“You’ll love it,” Max said. “We came back from the Hinterlands with a Dalish elf and two mages.”

Sera pulled a face like someone had put rashvine in her tea.

“One of the mages is the sister I thought was dead,” Max said. “So yes, much better mood. And this is Dorian.”

“How do you do,” Dorian said, taking a drink of his beer while Sera surveyed him and found him clearly wanting.

“At least he’s shiny,” Sera declared, and then she pranced off out of the tavern and, Dorian assumed, away from all mages and possible Dalish elves.

“She…wants to help,” Max offered, although he took a long drink of his beer and wouldn’t meet Dorian or Varric’s eye.

“Just keep telling yourself that, Giggles,” Varric recommended.

Max cleared his throat and set his pint down. “So Dorian,” he said, and Dorian felt a little like he was melting under Max’s piercing green stare. “How long have you known Evie? It’s just, she’s never mentioned you in letters before.”

“I’ve only known her a month,” Dorian said. “We met just after the Conclave exploded. Is it true, what they say? You stepped out of the fade?”

“That’s what they tell me,” Max agreed. “I barely remember anything though.”

“So you can’t say whether you were helped from the fade by Andraste herself, set on a holy mission?” Dorian asked.

“No idea,” Max said. “But I’m not really herald material.”

Dorian didn’t mean to scoff loudly, but once he did, he decided he’d better just commit. “I know if I were Andraste I’d certainly pick the second-best looking man for miles as my herald.”

Max quirked an eyebrow, but also seemed to be supressing a grin. Varric, alternatively, drank deeply.

“Second-best?” Max asked. “After yourself, I’m assuming.”

“Of course,” Dorian said.

After all, he reasoned with himself when Max laughed, a little harmless flirting never hurt anyone.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify, I never read Alexius's interactions with Fiona in game to be in any way overtly or physically abusive. In the fic, that is entirely Max projecting based on his own really goddamn awful past experiences. Alexius just, you know, made a deal with the devil to save his son that required him to sell an entire group of people into slavery.
> 
> Also re: everyone's relative heights -   
> I imagine Dorian to be about 5'10, Cassandra to be about 5'11, and Max to be roughly 6'. Evie is 5'5, and Ella is 5'3.


	6. Back to the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which time is tampered with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who comments! It makes writing and maintaining interest in the story way easier!

Cassandra had provided them with the most aggressively ascetic soap possible, but Evie had to try and scrub it into her scalp anyway. It was the problem with her hair being as long as it was; it got so heavy when she didn’t wash it regularly that it started to feel like she was wearing an animal on her head. Ella, who permanently smelled like elfroot anyway, didn’t seem to mind the soap.

She did, however, persist in her fascination with Evie’s hair, and once they were bathed and clad in something that wasn’t disgusting from weeks of rough sleeping, Ella perched next to her with a comb and forced all the knots and tangles out of her hair.

“No one ever let me do their hair back in the clan,” Ella said, almost by way of explanation. “All the other girls would get together to get ready for bondings, and they always did each other’s hair, but I was never allowed to join.”

“You weren’t allowed or they wouldn’t let you?” Evie asked.

Ella shrugged as if to say it was the same thing. “But you had sisters, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but they were much older than me or Max,” Evie said. “We had a different mother. We never did each other’s hair either.”

“What about when you were with the other mages?” Ella asked, weaving an improbable number of strands together at the back of Evie’s head.

“I – no,” Evie said. “I spent all my time studying.”

Ella smiled softly and Evie wondered if she had also just decided that the other woman was her sister now. Evie certainly had.

Ella finished tying off Evie’s plait and remarked in confusion that it was already dry. Evie nodded, and explained that it had to do with being a pyromancer; she ran just a little warmer than most.

“We should go check in on the planning for the assault on the castle,” Evie said, unfolding herself from the floor and making sure Fenlen was securely locked in their cabin before leading the way across Haven to the chantry. They were met at the door by Max and Dorian, who smiled at them.

“Shall we go plan an assault on a Tevinter cult?” Dorian asked.

“Sounds like fun,” Evie replied.

“Fiona did say you were the rebellion’s best logistician,” Max said.

Evie felt all traces of a good mood disappear. “Did she,” she grumbled. It would’ve been easier to take a compliment from Fiona if Fiona hadn’t arranged to have the Divine killed and Evie in the same stroke. Hell, Evie probably had been the rebellions best logistician, but that was no longer an avenue open to them.

“I think you’ll like Leliana,” Max said as they approached the war room. “She’s clever, and she likes mages. She’s the Inquisition’s spymaster. And Josephine – our ambassador – is remarkably nice. I’ve never actually met someone that good at diplomacy.”

Evie nodded, committing the names to memory. “And what about your military commander?”

The smile Max had been wearing since they met in the chantry in Redcliffe dimmed.

“Erm,” he said. Which was as much warning as Evie needed to know something was going to be off about the Inquisition’s commander.

In the war room, three people were in heated debate while Cassandra leaned against a wall and looked aggravated by their bickering. One woman, red-headed and armoured, was clearly Leliana. The other woman, wearing gold and holding a note board, had to be Josephine. And the man with them…

He was blond, his armour was impeccable, he was tall, and everything about him screamed templar so loudly Evie almost turned on her heel and sprinted out of the war room. Before she could, the door closed behind them, and the Inquisition’s leaders stopped arguing amongst themselves in order to see who had arrived.

Evie was somewhat aware of the others talking, but she couldn’t stop herself from staring at the templar. He had a scar through his lip that she hoped a mage had put there, and his amber eyes were tired. No, not tired, exhausted to the core, and not like he hadn’t slept, but like his soul was heavy. Which was funny, because it suggested templars had souls.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt, but have I done something to offend you, Lady Trevelyan?”

The templar was speaking in a smooth voice, like whiskey over ice. She wondered how many times he’d used that particular asset to seduce and misuse mages at whichever circle he was stationed.

“Personally?” Evie asked. “Nothing, I’m sure. Institutionally?”

The templar inclined his head, as if he understood where she was coming from.

“Yes, the Herald did say you were a leader amongst the rebels,” the templar said. “We had hoped to get your input.”

“What input could I give?” Evie asked. “Most of the rebellion’s leadership died leaving the circles, so everyone’s flocking to Fiona but most of them are disorganised, and they’re not going to become more organised unless the Inquisition does something about it, because Fiona tried to kill the person with the best organisational skills.”

“Fiona tried to kill someone?” Leliana asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

Evie stared at them in confusion. “The amount of magic it would take to accomplish something like the Breach? It could only have been mages. The only mage I know who could muster enough suicidal loyalty from a small faction is Fiona, so yeah, I’d say she killed someone. A lot of someones. And if the Inquisition is insistent on getting the mages away from Tevinter, they had better be intending to get them away from her as well.”

The advisors exchanged looks, and even the templar seemed concerned by her accusation. Evie sort of wanted to light him on fire.

“You really think Fiona destroyed the Conclave and murdered the Divine?” Leliana asked.

“Who else could it possibly have been?” Evie replied. She sighed. “But I think she was acting with a very small faction and on the bright side, most of those people have to be dead now. The majority of the rebellion wouldn’t stoop to these methods.”

Unless they started taking pages from Anders’ book, but Evie didn’t want to think about that.

“Well regardless of their methods, we can’t let them fall into Tevinter’s thrall,” Leliana said.

“So we need to get into Redcliffe Castle,” Max said.

“There’s no way to stage a full scale attack,” the templar said. “We don’t have the numbers.”

“There, erm, there might be another way,” Max said, and for reasons Evie didn’t understand, he glanced at Leliana while he said it.

She considered him, and then nodded slowly. “Yes, there’s a tunnel. It was an escape route for the family. But we couldn’t fit a full force through it without being detected.”

“So we need a distraction,” Max said.

“Fortunately, we have an invitation,” Dorian said.

“Exactly,” Max said. “Send me in the front door to distract Alexius while some of our quieter agents sneak in for support.”

“Sounds perfect,” Evie said. “I’m coming with you.”

Max looked momentarily concerned, but brushed it off. “I suppose that would make sense. If anyone can get through to the mages, it’d be you.”

“That, sure,” Evie agreed. “And I want to see the look on Fiona’s face when she realises I’m still alive.”

* * *

* * *

 

It had been a while since someone had hated Cullen as soon as they laid eyes on him. The last time he could remember was Hawke’s…well, Cullen wasn’t sure – didn’t want to know – what their relationship status was these days, but at the time, Hawke’s apostate friend Anders. And now it was Evelyn Trevelyan, sister to the Herald of Andraste. Which would’ve been fine, except that Max was clearly devoted to her in such a way that it made Cullen sink with guilt for not writing Mia back, and they needed Max. Cullen couldn’t afford to be the reason the Inquisition fell apart.

And so as soon as their war council broke so those heading to Redcliffe could prepare, Cullen followed her.

She left her elven friend at their cabin and headed out the gates and into the small copse of trees beyond the training ground. Cullen didn’t mean to sneak up on her, but he narrowly avoided a fireball to the face for his trouble. For just a moment, before she realised who he was, Evelyn’s face wasn’t disfigured by anger or disgust. For just a moment her eyes were wide in surprise and she seemed like a perfectly normal woman. And then she realised it was him.

“Andraste’s tits,” Evelyn groaned. “It never ends with you people. A mage wants five minutes by herself and you’re always _there_. Lurking.”

Her eyes flashed like emeralds in candlelight, and Cullen could’ve sworn the copper strands in her hair blazed with fire. As flames started crackling in her palms he realised. He would’ve noticed sooner if he’d still been taking lyrium and almost cursed himself for deciding to stop. If he hadn’t, he would’ve recognised a pyromancer immediately.

It was a rare specialty, even rarer for the fact it couldn’t be taught. Pyromancers were born, not made. Lots of mages had a proclivity for fire, as their element of choice, but pyromancers made fully manifested rage demons look like a warm and comforting hearth on a cold winter’s night.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Cullen said, and meant it doubly so because he wouldn’t have even followed her if he’d realised she was a pyromancer.

“What do you want?” Evelyn asked.

“We need your brother,” Cullen said. Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “The Inquisition – the power to close the Breach and save all of Thedas is in your brother’s…”

“Hand?” Evelyn suggested, crossing her arms and glowering at him.

“We need him to stay,” Cullen said. He wondered if he sounded as ridiculous as he felt. Probably, if the set of Evelyn’s face was anything to go by.

“I don’t think he’s planning on going anywhere,” she said.

“But if you asked him to, he might,” Cullen replied.

Evelyn laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. It was bitter and jagged, a log snapping in a firepit.

“You think I’m so selfish I would ask my brother to abandon the entire world just because there’s a templar running the military branch of the Inquisition?” she asked. “Because all mages are just morally bankrupt, right?”

Without meaning to, Cullen recalled with sudden intensity being trapped in a warded prison while blood mages overran Kinloch, remembered the desire demons taunting him with a woman whose hair was a very different shade of red than that of the woman in front of him now. He recalled the disfigured shapes Orsino had become in Kirkwall, he remembered Anders blowing up the chantry. And he bit his tongue.

“That’s what I thought,” Evelyn said, when he didn’t say anything. “Don’t worry, templar, you get to keep my brother for the time being. But if any harm comes to the mages we bring back from Redcliffe, I will hold you personally responsible. And your coat looks nice and flammable.”

Then she stomped off through the snow, leaving melted footprints behind her.

* * *

* * *

 

Given his way, Max would’ve spent several days in Haven catching up with Evie. Finding her alive had been by far the highlight of anything that had happened to him since the Conclave, but finding her as bitter as she sometimes sounded in her letters made him want to know everything. Everything she hadn’t told him over the years they’d been apart, everything that had happened since Ostwick’s circle fell and she disappeared into the rebellion. But instead, they were riding to Redcliffe, and there were enough people around that he didn’t want to put her on the spot.

Vivienne and Sera had declined to join them on the Redcliffe expedition as Sera didn’t care for mages, and Vivienne didn’t care for these particular mages. Solas had also bowed out in favour of studying the Breach and the methods they would have to use to close it, with the added comment that having an elf in his party to speak to a Tevinter magister couldn’t help Max’s cause.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona’s an elf,” Max had pointed out, but Solas bowed out anyway.

They made camp before heading into Redcliffe, and Dorian told them everything he knew about Alexius around the campfire. Max at least felt prepared to talk to the man for long enough that Leliana’s people could sneak in and deal with the guards. And so it was that he walked into the central hall of Redcliffe with Evie, Varric, and Cassandra at his back.

“The invitation was for Master Trevelyan alone,” a retainer said pompously, eyeing Max’s companions with distrust.

Max shrugged. “I’m happy to stay out here if Alexius would rather talk in the foyer.”

The retainer stared at him, then looked over each of his companions in turn, before nodding once and leading the way into Redcliffe’s great hall. It was almost familiar to Max, and looked almost precisely the way he’d been told it looked. The décor had been altered since Arl Eamon’s time, but there were simply more dog statues than there had been previously, as far as Max could tell. He wondered if that had something to do with there being no Orlesian Arlessa anymore: Fereldans left alone to do Fereldan decorating. Idly, he wondered what Commander Cullen’s tent looked like on the inside.

Alexius was waiting for them in what must have been the Arl’s throne once. He was flanked by more of his Venatori and by Felix, and when Max looked closely, Fiona, hiding in the shadows.

“The Herald of Andraste,” Alexius said. “You keep interesting company. One does not often see pyromancers outside the Imperium.”

“Pyromancers?” Fiona whispered, stepping out of the shadows. Her whole face went slack when she saw Evie, and even though Max knew Evie was expecting Fiona to be disappointed in her survival, he thought Fiona looked elated for the first moment. And then, slowly, her face morphed into distrust.

“We have distant Imperial relatives,” Max said.

Alexius inclined his head. “And so, you have come to bargain for mages to close the Breach.”

“Bargain is a weak word,” Max said cheerfully. “And really, bargaining is a boring topic. Let’s talk about time magic.”

Alexius froze for just a bit too long to make his response seem casual. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then let’s see if this rings a bell,” Max suggested. “Your Venatori, in service of some plot as yet unknown, rushed south before the Conclave, and then bent time itself to get to Redcliffe and ally with the rebel mages before the Inquisition could reach them, all because you wanted to get to me.”

Alexius sank back in his seat and narrowed his eyes.

“Bent time?” Fiona repeated, staring at Alexius in dismay.

“I allied with the rebel mages because the Fereldans and Orlesians and even your Free Marchers tend to treat their mages like dirt,” Alexius said. “Fiona signed the agreement with me because she trusts me.”

“Yes, because you simply ooze trust,” Max replied. He couldn’t afford to look to the side to see if the retainers had been taken out yet, and he knew Leliana’s people would be so silent as to keep them from making noise while they died.

“You came here to negotiate, Herald,” Alexius reminded him. “Shall we negotiate? Or will you be leaving?”

“We can stop pretending you have any intention of letting me walk out of here alive, if you’d like,” Max offered. “I find honesty in negotiation to be a powerful tool.”

Alexius’s mouth curled into a savage smirk. “Fair enough,” he said, standing. “You have interfered with the Elder One’s plans too many times, Lord Trevelyan. Venatori!”

Max tensed, wondering if the Inquisition’s people had managed to get to the guards. He had to assume they had, but just in case, he made sure he could still reach his knives in seconds. But no guards came spilling out to deal with them. Instead a Venatori soldier staggered into the middle of the hall as if drunk, and it was only when the man collapsed on his face that they realised he had three arrows sticking out of his back.

“Oh,” Max said while Alexius gaped. “Did I forget to mention we had people sneaking in and taking out your guards? My fault, honestly, and here I go babbling about honesty in negotiation.”

“What have you done, Alexius?” Dorian asked, stepping into the middle of the hall as well.

“Dorian,” Alexius growled. “I might have known.”

“Father, what did you do?” Felix asked. “Who is this Elder One?”

Max lost track of the next moments aside from Alexius roaring like an enraged beast, an amulet starting to blast magic at him, Dorian jumping in front of it, and then, for reasons Max couldn’t begin to explain, he was standing waist high in water in a dungeon cell.

“Blood of the Elder One, where’d they come from?”

Max turned to see Venatori guards raising swords at him and didn’t think. There was a gap between the end of the Venatori helmet and the start of the breastplate, and Max drove one of his knives through it without hesitation before latching onto the other. Obsidian was brittle, but against a leather cuirass it was invaluable, and his knife sliced through the armour like butter before leaving a gash through the man’s side so deep it nearly cut him in half through the lung.

As they dropped, dead, to the water, Max lowered his knives and turned to find Dorian staring at him. At the look in Dorian’s charming grey eyes, Max realised the warm, sticky substance on his face was probably blood. And then he got a good look at the cell they were in.

Aside from the water, large red crystals grew from the floor. They hummed when Max got closer to them, giving off enough heat that he realised it was the only reason the water wasn’t frigid.

“You are very quick,” Dorian said.

“Practice,” Max replied absently, still staring at the red lyrium. If this was growing in the dungeon of…surely they were still in Redcliffe Castle. If there was red lyrium growing in the rebel mages’ stronghold and there had been red lyrium at the temple, it made him worry that Evie was right in her assumptions about Fiona and the Conclave.

“Displacement, how fascinating,” Dorian said.

“So how do we get back to the main hall?” Max asked.

Dorian didn’t answer, still looking around the cell, and then continued speaking as though Max hadn’t said anything. “No, it’s not simply physical displacement. We’ve travelled through time! Marvellous.”

“Marvellous?” Max repeated, wondering if perhaps his sister had questionable taste in friends. “We’ve travelled through time and that’s marvellous?”

“I mean from a personal standpoint it’s absolutely horrific and I think Alexius was trying to remove you from time completely so that you were never at the Temple of Sacred Ashes and couldn’t interrupt whatever it was you interrupted,” Dorian said. “But from a scholarly standpoint? Alexius sent us through time. It’s fascinating!”

Max stared at him for a long, searching moment, and then shook his head and started searching the bloody waters for a key out of their cell.

“Sent us to when, exactly? Backwards? Forwards? How far?” Max asked, searching the pockets of the guard he’d cut nearly in half. He hadn’t brought his own lockpicks because they weren’t typically used in negotiations, and now he was cursing that decision.

“I have no idea,” Dorian said. “But if we can find Alexius, I believe the amulet he used was the same one we developed together in Minrathous, so I should be able to reverse the spell.”

“Should?” Max echoed.

Dorian lifted a shoulder, the one his robes kept bare for the sake of fashion. It was an impressive shoulder, but Max wasn’t going to fixate.

“It would be easier if I had help,” Dorian said.

Max nodded. He could find Dorian help. And hopefully figure out what happened. Fortunately, Max found the key and unlocked their cell.

“But really,” Dorian said as Max led the way through the red lyrium infested corridors of the dungeon, glancing in each cell for signs of life and finding none. “You are stunningly impressive with your knives.”

“Like I said, practice,” Max replied. There was no one on their floor, and so Max led the way up a flight of stairs instead.

“There’s a difference between practice and experience,” Dorian said. “You could have all the practice in the world decapitating training dummies but when it comes to doing the same to a breathing person, many people choke.”

Max groaned and wiped some of the blood off his forehead before turning to look at Dorian.

“What do you want from me?” he asked. “Do you want a list of all the people I’ve killed? Because I don’t think I can actually do that.”

Dorian recoiled slightly. “I simply meant that you are remarkably talented in combat and that it will be useful going forward.”

Max searched his eyes for the signs of repulsion that usually came with Max’s admission of his occupation, but there was none in Dorian’s face. He looked like he might actually have meant what he said.

“You have blood in your moustache,” Max informed him, and turned around before Dorian could recoil and start trying to wipe it off.

At the top of the stairs, a series of grated bridges connected their dungeon to other levels of dungeon. Max wasn’t sure what the Arl of Redcliffe had needed with such extensive dungeon systems, but he wasn’t really sure he wanted to know. He knew Redcliffe had been hit badly during the Fifth Blight, he knew someone who had fought in Redcliffe during the Fifth Blight and told him all about the Arl’s son being possessed by a demon. But even those descriptions of the castle hadn’t included the idea the dungeon was vast and inescapable.

“Venatori!” Dorian shouted, blasting a guard across the bridge with a lightning bolt. Max waited for the crackling to subside before he gutted the man.

“I think this could work,” Max said, heading down the flight of stairs the guard had been blocking. “You paralyze them, I stab them.”

“Precisely, we’ll be out of here in no time,” Dorian agreed.

They passed even more red lyrium in this dungeon, which made Max cringe. At a small noise, they both jumped, and Dorian instinctively fired a blast of flame in the direction it had come from. It dissipated against a door. Knives at the ready, Max pushed it open, stepping into the cell block. Here, the red lyrium was everywhere, growing out of the walls, from the stone, from –

“Fiona?” Max exclaimed, gaping through the bars of the cell. “Is that red lyrium growing--”

He thought he might puke, right there in the cell. Fiona’s legs had been replaced by lyrium crystals, her eyes giving off violent red light.

“You are alive,” Fiona said, struggling to turn to see them. “You vanished. We thought you were dead.”

“What happened?” Max asked. A thrill of fear ran up his spine. “Where’s Evie?”

“She is here,” Fiona said. “As is your spymaster.”

“Leliana? But--”

“What’s the date?” Dorian interrupted.

“Harvestmere, 9:42,” Fiona said.

“An entire year?” Dorian asked. “We missed an entire year? What happened?”

“You must stop the Elder One,” Fiona said, struggling to speak. Max wondered how many of her internal organs had been compromised by the red lyrium. He didn’t think there was anything he could do for her either, except go back in time. “And Herald – when you find Evelyn, tell her I am sorry. For everything.”

Max shared a look of horror with Dorian, and Fiona fell silent. Max wasn’t sure if she refused to speak to them or if she was unable. Either way, when Dorian pointed out the only thing they could do for her was keep any of this from happening, Max had to agree.

“Let’s fined Evelyn,” Dorian suggested, steering Max out of Fiona’s cell. Another Venatori or two later, they arrived in the next cell block, only to first come across Ellana. Max hadn’t spent a lot of time with the elf since she’d shown up with Dorian and Evie, but he could tell something was wrong by the way her ears drooped, and her blue eyes had turned red.

“Dorian?” Ellana asked in confusion, reaching through the bars and grabbing Dorian’s hand. “Dorian, it wasn’t the mages. They didn’t try to kill Evie or the Divine or Mahanon. It was the Elder One. I couldn’t – I couldn’t kill him.”

“It’s going to be alright, Poppet,” Dorian promised. “This future is never going to happen. Max and I are going to fix it.”

“But you died,” Ellana said.

“Max, would you…” Dorian nodded at the lock on Ellana’s cell. Max wanted to remind him that he didn’t have his lockpicks, but the locks on the doors were crap and mostly broken anyway, so he could get away with the tip of his dagger. The cell door popped open and Ellana staggered into Dorian’s waiting hug.

“We’re going to fix this,” Max assured her. “We just have to find Alexius. Is he here?”

Ellana nodded and let go of Dorian to fish in a chest at the end of the cell. She pulled a bow and quiver out of it and nodded again to say she was ready to go find Evie, and Leliana, and Alexius.

The next cell block over they didn’t find Evie – to Max’s dismay – but they did find Cassandra and Varric.

“If you are looking for Alexius, he is in the great hall,” Cassandra said when Max broke the lock on her door.

“And he deserves a few arrows through the eyes,” Varric said, shouldering Bianca and glaring into the middle distance. The effect was worse for the red glow in his eyes.

“And a sword through the gut,” Cassandra added. “Perhaps a few swords.”

“After my own heart, Seeker,” Varric replied. Cassandra, red glowing in her eyes as well, smiled at that, and Max was forced to wonder exactly how crazy the red lyrium had driven his companions.

He got his answer in the next cell block.

Instead of red lyrium growing from the walls, Evie’s cell was shrouded in ice. She paced the length of the tiny cell, melting footprints into the thick sheet beneath her feet with every step, only for it to ice over immediately once she’d passed. Steam turned to mist by the cold hung over the entire block like a shroud when they approached. Fire crackled down the length of Evie’s unbound hair, and danced off her fingers. Max couldn’t tell if her eyes looked like embers because of that, or because of red lyrium.

“Wearing a corpse is a bad move for a despair demon,” she spat in Max’s direction as they approached the cell. “What? Did the demon army reject you? They didn’t need your help to finish taking over Orlais so the Elder One sent you to torment me? Good fucking luck.”

“Demon army?” Max asked.

“Oh this one plays games,” Evie said, continuing to pace. “What’s your success rate? How many mages have you possessed and torn apart and left for dead?”

She finished her question by grabbing the bars of her cell so quickly, they all recoiled involuntarily. The bars, already covered in frost, started to give off steam.

“Want to see how despair does against fire?” she demanded. She inhaled a great breath of air, and as it filled her lungs the skin on her throat started to glow red. Max realised what was going to happen a split second before it did, and grabbed Dorian by the waist to haul him out of the path of the fire Evie exhaled.

“Is that a normal pyromancy trait?” Max asked.

“No,” Dorian replied, “no, I believe that’s the result of being trapped in ice for a year.”

“D-Dorian?” Evie asked, looking away from Max and noticing him for the first time. “But you’re both dead.”

“It’s really them, Evelyn,” Cassandra said. “They travelled through time.”

Evie considered this, and looked to Ellana for confirmation. Ella nodded.

“But if you travelled here,” Evie started, letting go of the bars and pacing again. “Then if we can get you back, none of this will happen. The Elder One won’t raise a demon army and conquer the south, he won’t be able to assassinate Empress Celene…we have to get you back.”

“That is the idea,” Max agreed. He still approached her cell with caution. “If I let you out, are you going to light me on fire?”

Evie shrugged. “Only if you turn out to be a demon.”

Max decided he’d just have to live with that and unlocked the cell. She completely ignored the staff in the corner and led the way out of the dungeon. When he asked why she’d left it behind, she simply said she was beyond staffs.

“This is not good,” Dorian whispered to Max without taking his eyes off Evie’s back.

“Believe it or not, I did figure that out,” Max whispered back.

They found Leliana in a torture chamber. She used their appearance to break her captor’s neck with her thighs and send him toppling to the floor. When Max explained that they were going to fix this, she simply said “good,” and then snapped at Dorian to stop talking. Leliana led their way through the rest of the castle – she knew it better than Max, after all, since she knew it from personal experience, rather than a slightly inebriated lover’s description – and headed the charge to claim pieces of red lyrium from a collection of Venatori.

Although he fought, couldn’t have avoided it if he tried, Max was distracted by his companions. Leliana was broken; Evie had gone mad and seemed to be on the verge of immolation; Ellana was still and almost sluggish. Cassandra and Varric were the only two who seemed to have retained the core essence of themselves, but even in doing so they were fundamentally changed, as they kept whispering to each other. And it was all Max’s fault. This was what would happen if he allowed the Elder One to win. This was the outcome should he die before closing the Breach. He alone might not have been the Inquisition, but whoever this Elder One was, he’d turned Max into the focus.

When they finally reached Alexius, Max found he was grateful for the damage his companions had undergone – and immediately hated himself for it. Leliana and Ellana picked off wraiths with shocking efficiency when Alexius blasted open a rift in the middle of the great hall. Evie got in close to a despair demon and grabbed it by the throat. Had anyone else tried, they would’ve lost their hands to frostbite, but under Evie’s touch the despair demon screeched horribly and then dissolved. All the same, it was Max who provided the killing blow to Alexius, from behind, between the ribs, through the lung, and into the heart.

“Now just give me an hour, and I should be able to reverse the spell,” Dorian said, taking Alexius’s amulet.

“An hour?” Leliana repeated. “That’s impossible!”

The cause was immediately apparent when outside, demons started to screech.

“We’ll barricade the door,” Cassandra said, exchanging a look with Varric, then with Evie and Ellana. The others nodded. “Buy you as much time as we can.”

“I can’t let you all die!” Max exclaimed, taking a step towards them. Dorian caught his elbow.

“You move, we all die,” he snapped, continuing to work on the amulet without letting go of Max’s arm.

“Work as fast as you can, Sparkler,” Varric recommended, and he, Cassandra, and Ellana headed for the door.

Evie paused long enough to look back at Max. For the first time, he saw terror in her glowing eyes while her hair truly turned to tendrils of flame and her clothes started to smoke. He realised she’d been holding off the effects ever since they’d taken her off ice.

“Don’t let me burn, Max,” she said, and then followed the others out the door. Leliana dropped a crossbar into it and readied her bow.

“How much longer?” Max asked Dorian.

“Almost there,” Dorian promised.

From beyond the barred door, an explosion rattled it in its hinges, and then the bar splintered down the middle and the door burst open. The first few demons through were nothing but charcoal, and the following were so burnt there were holes through them, but the horde after them were too healthy.

“You have as much time as I have arrows,” Leliana called back to them. Max heard her praying as she walked forward into death.

* * *

* * *

 

Ellana had been fairly sure they got all the guards between the windmill in Redcliffe and the great hall, but somehow, as soon as Max and Dorian vanished, Alexius managed to produce another horde of them.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Evie complained, spinning her staff.

Ellana aimed at one of the Venatori, but when she fired, the arrow went up and hit a brazier. As it swung, it dumped burning oil across a whole line of Venatori. Evie grinned at her and with a swirl of her staff, the flames danced higher, sending the Venatori screaming into the ones who weren’t burning.

“What have you done with the Herald?” Cassandra demanded, starting to charge Alexius with her sword drawn.

“He’s gone! He’s gone where you will never find him and he can no longer interfere with the Elder One’s plans!” Alexius crowed, looking way too pleased with himself. Ellana needed to know who this Elder One was, so she could kill him for killing Mahanon. But he didn’t really seem like he was in a chatty mood.

“What do you mean gone?” Evie asked.

“I mean he’s dead!” Alexius said.

Without warning, a knife appeared from behind him and pressed against Alexius’s throat. As Alexius stiffened, Max was revealed standing behind him.

“Want to bet?” Max asked.

When Alexius dropped to his knees in defeat, they all realised Max and Dorian were completely covered in blood. While Dorian seemed disgusted by this, Max didn’t even seem fazed.

“The mages at the Conclave didn’t murder the Divine,” Max said, turning Alexius over to the Inquisition soldiers. “This Elder One did. And Alexius is going to come back to Haven and tell us every single thing he knows about him.”

“Well I’m glad that’s over,” Dorian said.

As if to spite him, the doors of the great hall burst open and a new wave of soldiers marched in. Ellana drew an arrow before they could make it all the way inside, but they didn’t seem interested in any of them. Instead they took up defensive posts along the length of the great hall. Moments later, a man in regal furs stormed into the room, furious.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona,” he said. “I granted the mage rebellion use of this castle out of sympathy for your plight, and so imagine my surprise when I heard you’d sold it to Tevinter!”

“She sold the whole rebellion,” Evie supplied. “Especially the people in it.”

“And you are?” the man asked, turning away from Fiona to stare at Evie instead.

“Evelyn Trevelyan, your majesty,” she said.

“Aren’t you a scholar?” the human king asked. Ellana thought he sounded baffled, which made him seem more like a real person.

“Evie, do you know the King of Ferelden?” Max asked, coming to stand beside them.

“No, of course not,” Evie said. “I’ve just corresponded with his magical advisor in the past.”

Max squinted at her for a moment, and then turned to the king.

“The threat from Tevinter has been neutralised, your majesty,” he said.

“That’s great, but the mages are no longer welcome in Ferelden,” the king replied, turning from Max to glare at Fiona. She quailed, and even though Ellana knew Fiona was a city elf, she still wanted to jump between her and the king.

“But where will we go?” Fiona asked.

“I don’t care!” the king said. “Go to Orlais! You’re Orlesian, aren’t you?”

“I – yes, your majesty,” Fiona said, shrinking again. Ellana decided she didn’t care if Fiona was a city elf, she was going to provide solidarity anyway. She stepped up next to her and squeezed Fiona’s arm until she straightened up.

“Or you could join the Inquisition,” Max said.

Everyone in the hall turned to stare at him.

“We didn’t come here just to deal with Alexius,” Max pointed out. “We do still need mages to help close the Breach. By your leave, your majesty, of course.”

“I really don’t care,” the king said.

“I’m sure your magical advisor would have an opinion,” Evie piped up.

The king rounded on her. “If I knew where she was, I would ask her.”

“We’ll take them,” Max said. “We’ll have the mage rebellion join as our allies to aid us in closing the Breach.”

 

* * *

 

The ride back to Haven was a little awkward, since neither Max nor Dorian wanted to talk about what they’d seen in the future, and Evie was busy processing the idea Fiona apparently hadn’t tried to have her killed, and Varric and Cassandra were bickering. Before they left, Evie deputised some of the rebellion to get everyone organised and packing for Haven, so Fiona rode with them. Ellana weighed her options for anything that resembled an interesting conversation, and then decided to ride next to Fiona.

“I’ve never met an Orlesian elf before,” Ellana said. “Are the alienages in Orlais as bad as everyone says?”

“No,” Fiona replied, giving Ellana a small smile. “They’re much worse.”

Ellana grimaced. “Was the circle any better?”

“Maybe a little,” Fiona said. “But not much. Being a Grey Warden, however, was freeing. I wanted the other mages to have that sort of freedom as well.”

“You were a Grey Warden?” Ellana asked, her ears perking. “Like the ones who conquer the Blights?”

“I never fought in a Blight, but yes,” Fiona said.

“I didn’t realise Grey Wardens could leave,” Ellana said.

Fiona shrugged. “King Alistair stopped being a Grey Warden,” she said. “But yes, I’m afraid I was sent back to the Circle.”

“Why?” Ellana asked.

“I lost the ability to sense darkspawn,” Fiona said. “It is the most essential part of being a Grey Warden, and I could not get it back, so I was banished.”

“And so you staged a rebellion,” Ellana finished.

“Someone had to,” Fiona said. “Your friend Evelyn would have done the same in my position.”

Ellana raised her eyebrows. “I thought she did.”

“Yes,” Fiona agreed. “I suppose she did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also I found my beta, she was in Disneyland, oops


	7. The Bull's Chargers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which new contacts are formed.

 

As soon as they got back to Haven, Max knew he had to make a full report to Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen. Dorian offered to come with him, but Max wouldn’t hear of it. Instead, he let Dorian take the others to the tavern for a drink to give them the short version of events. Max met the council in the war room and related the story to them, finding it awkward to tell Leliana he’d watched her die.

“Well, on the bright side, with the mages we now have what we need to mount an assault on the Breach,” Josephine said. “I will speak with our mages and Fiona to see if we can’t find a…diplomatic…way to get them all working together on the plan of attack.”

She turned to go, but paused and looked back at Max.

“And we are all very grateful for your safe return, my lord Herald,” she added.

“Me too,” Max assured her.

She smiled and left, leaving Max with Leliana and Cullen.

“Speak with me when you have a moment,” Leliana requested, touching Max’s shoulder lightly on her way out the door. Max nodded, and then looked across the table at Cullen. He was frowning at the war table with his arms folded, and then reached down to pick up one of the flags they used for potential goals.

“We really ought to be doing everything we can to stabilise the Hinterlands,” he said. “Our reach doesn’t extend very far, and as long as we have this area, we should do the most we can.”

“Are you disappointed that we allied with the mages?” Max asked.

Cullen looked up from the table and Max rued the fact he was straight. There was a quiet intensity in his eyes that made Max fairly sure he’d be the sort to cherish someone so passionately it would hurt – or that he’d be the sort to bend someone over a desk. Max wasn’t really sure he’d mind either outcome.

“I believe the others are right,” Cullen said. “With some reflection, the mages probably are best suited to the task of closing the Breach.”

“It’s not going to make you nervous having this many mages around?” Max asked.

The corner of Cullen’s mouth twitched. “I have spent the majority of my life surrounded by them,” he said.

“Right, of course,” Max said, mentally kicking himself. He started to leave, and then stalled by the door. He turned back around to find Cullen watching him curiously. “You don’t – I dunno, know anything about pyromancers, do you?”

Cullen’s eyebrows rose. “Are you worried that Lady Trevelyan is a danger to herself or to others?”

“Herself,” Max admitted.

“Something happened in the future you saw?” Cullen asked. Max nodded. He couldn’t shake the image of Evie combusting. “From what I’ve seen, Lady Trevelyan has remarkable control for a pyromancer.”

“As a templar, would you be able to tell if she was going to…y’know…” Max couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Cullen considered him and folded his arms again. “Are you asking me to keep watch on your sister?”

“I – no, of course not, just, tell me if you notice anything?” Max couldn’t really figure out what the distinction was in his own head, and didn’t begrudge Cullen the flat look he got in return.

“If she found out, she would light us both on fire,” Cullen said.

“Yeah, I really don’t care what she does to me – or to you, frankly, no offence – as long as she’s safe,” Max said.

Cullen kept staring at him for a long while, and then sighed in defeat. He sounded tired. “If I notice anything change, I’ll let you know,” he said. “If she burns me to death, have Cassandra take my place.”

“Thank you,” Max said.

Cullen waved him off as if to say “don’t mention it” and Max decided that was probably exactly what he meant. Mentioning it would presumably get them both into trouble.

Max left him in the war room, skirted past Vivienne before she could notice him and glare a hole into the side of his head, and ducked out of the chantry to Leliana’s tent. She was in conversation with a scout when he approached, and seemed disappointed with whatever the scout was telling her.

“Farrier was one of our best agents, and he knows where the others are,” she said. “Make it quick. We used to be friends once.”

The scout started to leave, but paused to offer deference to Max.

“Having someone killed?” Max asked. “Do they really need to die?”

“He betrayed one of my best agents,” Leliana said, staring at Max incredulously.

“So won’t he have information about the people who want our agents dead?” Max asked.

Leliana narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, and then called the scout back to tell him to bring in the traitor alive for questioning. An uneasy silence fell over Leliana’s tent.

“You asked to speak to me,” Max reminded her.

“I did,” Leliana said, sitting at one of the tables in her tent. “You had heard about the passage from the windmill to Redcliffe Castle before I mentioned it.”

Max tried to keep his grimace internal. “I had, yes.”

“And I was talking to Josie,” Leliana continued. “She told me you said one of the Trevelyans’ greatest accomplishments in the past ten years was having the family assassin help eliminate the Antivan Crows.”

Max surreptitiously scanned the tent for anyone who might be listening. There were always ears somewhere near Leliana.

“That’s correct,” Max agreed.

“Your family assassin must be acquainted with Zevran Arainai,” Leliana said.

Max struggled to keep his face blank. “Yes, I believe our family assassin to be very well acquainted with Zevran Arainai.”

The stalemate in the tent lasted for long enough that Max could work up a healthy sweat under his collar.

“And how is dear Zevran?” Leliana asked. “It’s been so long since I’ve spoken to him. How long has it been for your…family assassin?”

“About five years,” Max said, wondering what the point was in pretending. Leliana clearly knew, and even if he didn’t really want the knowledge to get around the Inquisition, he doubted the spymaster would be the sort to gossip. “It was fun while it lasted.”

Leliana smiled softly, a little like the cat who’d got the canary, and pushed a stool towards him. Max sat.

“Zevran always did seem like he’d be fun,” she said.

For a moment, Max let himself get lost in reminiscences of hazy nights in Antiva City, rooftop gardens and dangerous parties, daggers that flew too fast for anyone to see, lips that tasted like Antivan brandy, and then snapped his attention back to the reality of his present in Haven. With a glowing mark on his hand, a mysterious Elder One trying to kill him, and a hole in the sky.

“Is that why you go around mentioning that you’re not the type to be the Herald of Andraste?” Leliana asked, her voice suddenly sharp.

“Why?” Max asked. “Because I enjoy the company of men?”

Leliana fixed him with a piercing look that communicated without words that she clearly meant “because you’ve been your family’s assassin since you were sixteen.”

“Yes,” he admitted.

Leliana nodded once. “You’ve heard the expression ‘what you don’t know can’t hurt you’?”

Max had.

“The things I don’t know can destroy the Inquisition, do I make myself clear?” Leliana asked.

“Crystal,” Max said. Chastened, he stood to leave, but Leliana called him back.

“No, sit,” she said in a much lighter voice. “I do want to hear how Zevran’s doing. Or how he was five years ago. It’s difficult to keep up with old friends.”

“He was fine,” Max said. “He taught me a lot. Told a lot of stories.”

Leliana smiled softly. “About the Hero of Ferelden?”

“I think he was half in love with her,” Max said. Which was fine by him. Whatever there had been between himself and Zevran hadn’t been love. It had just been nice to be with someone who didn’t treat him like he was a dirty secret.

“I think it was more than half,” Leliana replied. She sighed. “But we all were, I suppose. Especially Alistair.”

Max blinked. He hadn’t meticulously memorised all of Zevran’s stories, but until that moment he hadn’t made the connection between Zevran’s friend Alistair and the King of Ferelden.

“It worked out for the best in the end,” Leliana said, either oblivious to or ignoring Max’s moment of realisation. “Solona makes Alistair stronger, and he makes her better.”

Max found himself wondering if King Alistair Theirin had kept up with the other veterans of the Fifth Blight. Mostly, he realised, he wondered if Zevran had possibly told anyone who’d come in contact with the Inquisition about the Free Marcher protegee he’d taken in. Because he did understand Leliana’s earlier point: people finding out the so-called Herald of Andraste had taken down a fair number of Antivan Crows was something that might go over very badly for the Inquisition’s reputation if they weren’t prepared.

“Anyway, while the mages work on the actual method of closing the Breach, there are a few things I’d like you to do,” Leliana said, snapping back to business. “We received word from a mercenary company up on the Storm Coast. They’d like to join the Inquisition, but figure we might need a demonstration of their abilities. I’d appreciate if you took a party north to check it out.”

“Of course,” Max said, standing and starting to leave for real.

“And another thing,” Leliana said. “Weisshaupt has gone silent, and no one’s heard from the Grey Wardens in months. Normally, I’d just think it was a coincidence, but with everything else, that seems too pleasant to be true. There are rumours of sightings along the Storm Coast, but if you can’t find anything, I’ve also heard that there’s a Warden recruiter in the Hinterlands called Blackwall. I’d appreciate if you looked for him on your way back from the Coast.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Max promised. He paused at the edge of the tent, and turned back. “And thank you. In the future, I mean. For giving your life to save us.”

Leliana’s small smile returned. “I always did like a bargain.”

* * *

* * *

 

Dorian had been in a fair number of deeply uncomfortable rooms in his life. There were floor fights in the Circles of Magi he’d attended, there were the times he’d walked into parts of brothels he regretted, there was every single time he’d been in a room with both of his parents at once. But sitting around a meeting table in Haven’s chantry with the Inquisition’s mages certainly ended up in the top five within seconds.

Vivienne de Fer, who had joined the Inquisition in Orlais before Max had come to Redcliffe and acquired Dorian and Evie, had clear bad blood with both Fiona and Evie. Evie and Fiona, of course, still weren’t speaking to each other, or if they were, it was in clipped, stilted tones that came from people who were too stubborn to apologise to each other despite knowing they’d both been in the wrong. Solas tried valiantly to talk about the theory behind closing the Breach, but the senior mages the Inquisition had acquired with the addition of the rebels – along with a woman named Ellendra who kept staring at Evie like she was trying to place her – were too busy trying to stay out of the awful looks Vivienne, Evie, and Fiona were sending each other to pay him any attention.

“Fiona, my dear, you look simply dreadful,” Vivienne said, saccharine sympathy drenching her voice. “Did being in thrall to a magister not agree with you?”

“Not every Tevinter practices blood magic, Vivienne,” Dorian said cheerfully while Fiona glowered at her forcefully enough that if she were Evie, Dorian would’ve worried Fiona was about to catch fire. “The bloodstains are so hard to get out of the carpet.”

“I’m sure,” Vivienne replied, before turning her attention to Evie. “And Evelyn, darling, you look so tense. A shame we didn’t ally with the templars. I understand the strapping ones are your vice of choice?”

All the mages at the table – save Ellendra, Dorian noticed – turned to look at Evie in shock. Try though he might to suppress it, even Dorian was curious.

“Well, Vivienne, we can’t all be lapdogs for Orlesian dukes, can we?” Evie asked. Her voice was the coldest Dorian had ever heard it.

To Dorian’s surprise, this jab made Vivienne’s mouth curl into an equally frigid smile.

“We’re so sorry to be rude, Solas, I believe you were speaking?” Vivienne said, turning to the elf who stood at the head of the table.

Solas’s lecture lasted for an hour before they were finally free to finish the day as they pleased. For Dorian, that meant steering Evie to the tavern before she could get in a fight with either Vivienne or Fiona and sitting her down with a glass of whiskey since he’d figured out she hated Fereldan beer. Ellana, unfortunately, had gone to the Storm Coast with Max.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dorian asked after she’d finished her glass. She’d never been hostile in his direction, but he didn’t want to test his luck.

“Which part?” Evie asked.

“Perhaps why you and Fiona aren’t speaking,” Dorian suggested.

Evie snorted, and flagged the bartender over for a refill. “We know now that it was this Elder One whoever that blew up the Conclave, right? But it turns out when I wasn’t dead? Her first thought was that the only reason I survived the Conclave was because  _ I  _ was the one responsible for the explosion.”

Dorian sighed, and finished off his beer as well.

“And why do you and Vivienne hate each other?” he asked.

Evie huffed and tossed back the whiskey Flissa had brought her. “Because I broke her record for youngest Harrowing at the Ostwick Circle. And then she dedicated a lot of time to discrediting me as a scholar because I was working on research into Arcane Warriors, and her specialisation as a Knight-Enchanter is…somewhat appropriative.”

Dorian nodded slowly. Those were conflicts he understood, and was confident Evie could best. And if she couldn’t quite do it alone, he’d be happy to provide assistance.

“And what was Vivienne saying about strapping templars?” Dorian asked.

Evie grimaced and shoved her hair out of her face. The torchlight from the tavern caught on the copper tresses and made them look more like flames than usual. Dorian managed to suppress the shiver that went down his spine when he remembered her catching fire in the future that was not allowed to happen.

“When I was seventeen there was a templar,” she said. “He – I thought we were in love, and we planned to run away together, but when the time came, it turns out he’d turned me in to the Knight-Captain and told them I’d bewitched him. He got transferred to Kirkwall and I got stuck in solitary confinement for two years.”

Dorian felt his jaw go slack. He’d heard a lot of terrible things about southern templars, but had never personally known someone with ties to them. Especially not someone he cared for.

“So that went around as gossip in some of the circles for a while,” Evie said. “Because I was seventeen and stupid.”

“So Vivienne just brought it up to be cruel,” Dorian surmised.

“I believe so,” Evie said. “I’m sure she’ll be perfectly civil to you as long as you don’t tell her that Knight-Enchanting is a bastardization and corruption of ancient elven magic.”

“And this templar, do you know where he is now?” Dorian asked. “It’s just, if he’s nearby, we can find him and light him on fire.”

“Well he got transferred to Kirkwall, so I can hope he died there,” Evie said. She shook herself like she didn’t want to talk about it or think about it, which Dorian understood perfectly. Most of his past lovers were best left forgotten as well. Instead he proposed a toast to men who ought to be forgotten, and suggested they get drunk about it. When Evie agreed in a heartbeat, he wondered if he’d possibly made his first ever best friend.

* * *

* * *

 

Ellana missed Fenlen. She’d left him back in Haven under Evie’s care, and she knew Evie would take care of him, and remember to feed him and let him out of their cabin, but she still missed having him to snuggle when they made camp. And it wasn’t like she could ask Max or Varric or Sera or, creators forbid, Cassandra for snuggles.

And the actual travel was mostly Max trying – and sometimes succeeding – to read the map, Cassandra and Varric bickering, and Sera humming to herself. Even though Ellana had never been included in the close-knit bands in the clan, it would’ve made her feel better if the people around her were in them at the very least.

Their second day out of Haven, she tried for Sera.

“I’m not talking to you,” Sera announced, crossing her arms and looking away from Ellana. She didn’t look entirely comfortable on her horse, which Ellana blamed on her being a city elf. Or maybe just a city person, since Varric didn’t seem particularly satisfied either.

“Why not?” Ellana asked. The horse master, Dennet, had found her a Dalish All-Bred, which might not have been a halla, but it would do just fine. All she’d needed to offer in exchange was a promise to teach him the finer points of halla keeping.

“You’re one of them Dalish sorts, aren’t you?” Sera asked. “You’re gonna yell at me for not being all elfy!”

Ellana frowned at her. “No I’m not,” she said.

“You’re not,” Sera repeated, sceptical. “You’re not gonna tell me I’m bad because I just want to be a person not give a frig about the whatsits and the hallas and whatever?”

Ellana raised her eyebrows. “Solas got to you?”

“He’s  _ too  _ elfy,” Sera said. “You’re just…elfy.”

“I guess that’s a compliment?” Ellana asked.

Sera frowned, her face scrunching up. “I guess,” she admitted. “But you’re really not gonna natter me for it?”

“You couldn’t be a Dalish elf if you tried,” Ellana said.

Sera giggled. “I know, right?”

Ellana sighed, and missed Mahanon more than ever. Ellana was bad at most things to do with being a Dalish elf. She was too curious about outside cultures, and too restless, and too accident prone. The only thing she was good at was taking care of the halla, and that mostly got her scorn from the people her age in the clan. Mahanon would’ve laughed himself stupid at the idea Ellana was more Dalish than someone.

The other thing she was good at, though, was tracking. She would say hunting, but her shooting things tended to result in disaster, so she’d settle for saying tracking. And she was good with directions. So when they made camp for the night, she squished onto Max’s seat by the fire and gently took the map from him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, flushing in shame.

“You have to talk to people,” Ellana said. She shrugged. “I can navigate as long as you do all the negotiating.”

“The last time I tried to negotiate something I got flung a year into the future,” Max replied. “And watched a lot of people die.”

Ellana’s ears twitched. Dorian had told them about the bad future, and even though he hadn’t said explicitly that he’d watched her die, he’d implied it.

“Maybe don’t negotiate with angry Tevinters then,” Ellana suggested, which got a snort from Varric. He was sitting on his side of the fire writing something out while Cassandra sat three feet away from him and tried to look like she wasn’t spying on his letters.

“So when Dorian eventually figures out I have a stash of brandy in my cabin, and I’m not supposed to negotiate, what should I do?” Max asked. “Beg?”

“Let Sparkler lead the negotiations,” Varric suggested. “Maybe he’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse – I’m gonna put that in my next book.”

He rifled in his bag for a notebook and scratched something into it with his quill.

“Or maybe you can just dazzle him with your stunning good looks,” Varric suggested.

Max laughed, and Ellana thought he even looked bashful, which was sort of funny since he and Evie were possibly the prettiest humans she’d ever met.

“It’s funny, everyone back in Ostwick always insisted my brother got all the looks in the family,” Max said. “Evie and I look too much like our mother.”

“Do you not have the same mother?” Cassandra asked.

“No, our mother was Antivan,” Max said. “Isaac, Annabelle, and Miriam’s mother was a Free Marcher.”

“And, just to clarify, there are people who think your brother is better looking than you?” Varric asked, frowning at Max in disbelief.

Max laughed again, but now he sounded awkward. “You haven’t met my brother.”

“Don’t have to, Giggles,” Varric replied, shaking his head and turning back to his letter.

“You could always just share your brandy with him,” Sera said, reclining backwards across one of the logs they’d dragged over so that all the blood was rushing to her head.

“But only once he finds it, right?” Max asked, and everyone laughed.

Under Ellana’s navigation, they got to the Storm Coast in three more days where they found Scout Harding waiting for them.

“Welcome to the Storm Coast,” she said, wiping some rain off her brow. “We’ve been looking for signs of the Wardens like Sister Nightingale asked, but our party came up against some mercenaries farther down the coast.”

“The ones we’re here to meet?” Max asked.

“These ones call themselves the Blades of Hessarian,” Harding replied. “But the Bull’s Chargers are down on the coast. You should be able to find them easily.”

They thanked her and trudged down the rocky slope through the rain and the elfroot towards the crashing waves and the sounds of fighting. The first look Ellana got of the Bull’s Chargers was of a group of mismatched people fighting together as a team against a group of Tevinter soldiers. Max and Cassandra dove into the fray without hesitation, and Varric and Sera started shooting. Ellana wondered if there was any way she could actually shoot into the fray without hurting one of the mercenaries, but saw a perfect shot when one of the Tevinters ran up towards the dwarf in the party. Her arrow caught the soldier through the wrist and embedded in the shield of the Tevinter behind him. While the shield-bearer tried to shake him off, a giant Qunari brought a sword through both of them.

“There’s a Qunari?” Ellana breathed, suddenly grateful that Varric and Sera were too far away to hear her. Then she realised there was still a fight going on. By the time she found the next target, though, everyone who needed to be dead was dead.

Max wiped his knives off and sheathed them before stepping up to the Qunari.

“Iron Bull, I presume?” he asked. He was the first human Ellana had met who could manage to be charming whilst also covered in blood.

“And you’re the Herald of Andraste,” the Qunari replied. His voice was so deep Ellana could feel it in her bones. She realised a moment too late that she was hovering behind Max’s shoulder peering at the Qunari with her eyes so wide she could actually make out the fabric grain on his striped trousers. The parts of his grey skin that weren’t scarred looked like they would be smooth to the touch. Then she started taking in other details – the intricate but wearing leatherwork on his eyepatch, his shoulder brace, the shrewdness in his grey eye which was looking –

“The Herald of Andraste and, uh, friends,” the Qunari amended.

\--looking right at  _ her _ .

Max’s brow furrowed, and he turned his head to see what the Qunari was talking about. He jumped when he realised Ellana was so close to him.

“Iron Bull, Ellana Lavellan,” Max introduced.

“I’ve never met a Qunari before,” Ellana said. Iron Bull’s biceps looked like they were the same size as her head, if not a little bigger.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Iron Bull said, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. He turned and caught the attention of one of his men. “How’d we do Krem?”

“Five or six injured, no dead,” the mercenary replied.

“Tell the throat cutters to finish up and break out the casks,” Iron Bull instructed. “The Inquisition’s come to negotiate.”

Ellana couldn’t help but laugh, and was relieved when she heard Sera and Varric doing so as well.

“I’ve, erm, it’s been decided I shouldn’t be a negotiator,” Max explained.

“Then how about this,” Iron Bull said, clapping a hand on Max’s shoulder. It was the shoulder nearest Ellana, and she couldn’t fathom how Iron Bull’s hand managed to cover Max’s entire shoulder, guard and everything. Each of his fingers was like two of hers combined.

“We don’t negotiate,” Iron Bull continued, steering Max to a log and sitting him down. “I just tell you that the Inquisition seems to be doing good works, and that I’ll work all the details out with your ambassador, and you agree to sign us on. You’ve seen us work. We’re expensive but we’re worth it.”

“Works for me,” Max said. “The Inquisition would welcome your assistance.”

“There’s something else,” Iron Bull said, taking Max down the beach a little way away.

While they talked quietly, the man Iron Bull had sent to deal with casks popped up next to her with a mug.

“A drink?” he offered, handing it to her.

“Thanks,” Ellana said, taking it and scanning the mercenaries while she sipped. At one side of the battlefield, a dwarf and a blond human were searching bodies for valuables. At the other, a different human was patching up wounds. Two elves sat by the looters and heckled while they searched, and the man with the alcohol – who Ellana assumed was some sort of second-in-command – wandered through all of them distributing liquor. He was eventually dragged over by the healer to be inspected for injuries, and was only released when bribed with alcohol. He was then captured by the elves to join in the heckling.

“You alright there, Violet?” Varric asked, nudging her with his elbow, which was when she realised she was staring.

“Oh,” she said. “I’m fine! It’s just…they’re a clan.”

* * *

* * *

 

_ To Curly, Ruffles, and Nightingale, _

_ We’ve found some success at the Storm Coast. Unfortunately, it’s as it says on the tin, so it’s a bit damp and awful as a place, but we’re managing. We made contact with the Bull’s Chargers and the majority of the company should be arriving in Haven any day now. They are remarkably efficient at what they do, and I’m sure there are many uses we can find for them. The lieutenant’s name is Cremisius Aclassi and he seems to keep them well in line. _

_ The Iron Bull (and it is  _ The _ ) will be staying with us on the Storm Coast while we search for signs of the Grey Wardens. We had an encounter with a group calling themselves the Blades of Hessarian – who are now happy to report to you, Curly – since I bested their leader in a duel and am now officially in charge of them, somehow. Varric wishes to place a formal request for “absolutely no more cults, I mean it.” _

_ We intend to seek out whatever signs of Wardens we can uncover and then head to the Hinterlands to find Warden Blackwall. We know why the Wardens were out here at the very least, as there have been darkspawn popping up in unexpected places. Firefly’s ability to light anything and everything on fire would be heartily welcome. _

_ More as it happens, _

_ Giggles _

* * *

* * *

 

Lace Harding liked to think she was a practical, pragmatic dwarf. She wasn’t given to flights of fancy, no matter what her mother had hoped when she named her Lace. She knew how to fix a saddle if it broke, most of the time.

But she was a dwarf, and her horse was an actual horse, and when it came down to it, if her stirrups broke, she couldn’t exactly ride her damn horse.

There was a town only a day’s walk from the Storm Coast camp where she’d left the Herald and his party, so she could at least get the stirrups fixed on the way back to Redcliffe. On the bright side, it stopped raining a few hours inland, and her horse didn’t stop to graze every thirty seconds the way some horses did when you led them around, so she had that going for her.

As she said, she was not given to flights of fancy.

The sound of hooves on the muddy road made her swear and force her horse to the side. She could handle herself in a fight if it came to it, but she didn’t want to get jumped by bandits while wearing the Inquisition’s colours. It would look bad.

She glanced over her shoulder at the other travellers – a group on horseback and a waggon carting a few more – and resolved to wait for them to pass entirely before she got back in the middle of the road with her horse and her broken saddle. But the front rider slowed to a stop next to her.

“You’re with the Inquisition, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Yep,” Harding replied, trying to inject just the right amount of “so don’t fuck with me” into her voice.

“Heading back to Haven?” he asked.

“Yep,” Harding repeated.

“We’re the Bull’s Chargers,” he said, gesturing at the rest of the travellers. “Just joined up. Did something happen to your horse?”

Relieved that they weren’t bandits who were going to take her for all the coin she had, Harding relaxed.

“My horse is fine, but my stirrups broke,” she said. “I’m just walking to the nearest town.”

“Why don’t you travel with us?” he asked. “It’d make for a nicer journey.”

_ For you or for me? _ Harding didn’t ask, even though he had very pretty brown eyes.

“I travel a lot faster alone,” Harding said. “But thank you for the offer.”

The mercenary smiled and it was a little too endearing.

“You can tell them we got lost and you had to save us,” he suggested. Harding laughed, but still declined. “Fine, but at least let us give you a ride to the blacksmith.”

“I suppose I can’t turn that down,” Harding said, because it would be easier. It would definitely be easier. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Sorry! It’s Krem,” he said. “Cremisius Aclassi, lieutenant for the Bull’s Chargers. And your name…”

“Lead Scout Harding,” Harding replied.

“It’s nice to meet you, Harding,” Krem said, and then leaned down from his saddle to offer her a hand. Harding took it, and let him pull her up onto the saddle, sitting securely behind him. One of the other Chargers grabbed her horse’s reins and hitched him to the back of their wagon and then they were off.

No, Lace Harding wasn’t normally given to flights of fancy. But she supposed just this once she could make an exception for a knight in shining armour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who comments! It means the world to me.


	8. What's in a Name?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is going up so late in the day (for me at least. it's 11:45 here). I've had a remarkably busy day for not having left except to get yeast, whipping cream, and honey at the grocery store.

After four days of being in a room with Vivienne and Fiona, Evie was about ready to tear her own hair out, or possibly light the entire Inquisition on fire. For the most part, all three of them would willingly listen to Solas’s conjecture about the Breach and their efforts towards closing it, but at the same time, Vivienne managed to punctuate all her comments with petty jabs at either Evie or Fiona, and Evie refused to apologise first to Fiona. Vivienne had turned  _ that  _ into a jab as well, with a casual, “It must be so nice to be so young that you can still hold grudges against people who ought to be your allies,” and, well, Evie didn’t like being called a child.

She wanted Max to come back from the Storm Coast and use his position as Herald of Andraste to tell Vivienne to fuck off. She wanted Ella to come back from the Storm Coast to help her plot revenge. She wanted, she decided, to light something on fire.

After their assembly was over for the day, she declined Dorian’s invitation for drinks for the first time since she’d met him and stormed out of the gates of Haven and towards a small wooded clearing. It was the same one that the templar had followed her to, after Redcliffe, but at this point she almost hoped he’d follow her again so she could have something to hit.

To her conflicted relief, he was already in the clearing, sitting on a tree stump and looking over a stack of reports. When she burst through the trees he looked up, presumably to tell one of his soldiers to back off, but when he realised it was her, he jumped to his feet and held up his hands in a display of innocence.

“I swear I wasn’t following you,” he said before she could say anything. He looked thinner than he had the last time she’d looked at him, and after a moment, she realised it was because he wasn’t wearing his breastplate, or his greaves, or his bracers.

“I know,” Evie said, frowning at him. “You were already here.”

“Right,” he said. “Lady Trevelyan, are you…”

“Am I what?” Evie asked, crossing her arms and glowering at him.

“Alright?” he asked. “It’s just that you’re melting everything around you.”

Evie considered her answer for long enough she felt sure he’d assumed the answer was negative. He’d be right, but it was still irritating.

“Do you know how to use a quarterstaff?” she asked.

Although he seemed baffled by the change of subject, he said that he did. Even better, when Evie told him to go get a couple, he actually did. He handed one of them to her, although the somewhat amused confusion didn’t leave his eyes. She hated his eyes, especially the way they could layer mischief over deep-seated trauma that she didn’t want to know about.

“I take it we’re sparring?” he asked. “Or attempting to spar?”

“What do you mean ‘attempting’?” Evie demanded, taking her grip on the quarterstaff. She didn’t think Max would thank her for lighting the Inquisition’s military commander on fire, so it was for the best there wasn’t a crystal in it, and that it was made of wood.

“Erm, Lady Trevelyan, you’re tiny,” the templar said.

Evie gaped at him and stomped across the snow towards him, fully intending to knock him backwards. He stood his ground and let her approach, one eyebrow quirked in amusement. To Evie’s complete dismay, the top of her head was slightly below his chin. To counteract this, she walloped him in the stomach with her staff and then jumped back before he could retaliate.

“Where’s your armour, Templar?” she asked.

He narrowed his eyes. “The blacksmith’s,” he replied, taking a step towards her and swinging his own staff. Evie blocked it with hers and tried to push him back, but he dropped his arm before it could bend backwards.

“Why aren’t you training your men?” she asked, swinging at his unprotected side. He caught the blow with his staff and succeeded in pushing her back. Her grip broke, and before she could get both hands back on her staff, his was pressed against the side of her neck. She swallowed.  The hand she still had on her own staff was starting to smoke.

“Testing my lieutenants,” the templar replied. “Seeing if I can trust them to train in my absence.”

Evie knocked his staff away from her neck, regained her grip, and then they were fighting. The only sound from the clearing was the clacking of their staffs, and occasional grunts as blows made contact. Evie was going to be covered in bruises tomorrow, but she didn’t really care since she’d also be able to sit around Vivienne without committing homicide.

“I didn’t realise,” the templar said, breathing hard while he kept her from whacking him in the shoulder. He pushed her back and she pivoted to smack him in the back of the thighs instead. He grunted and turned to catch her across the waist. Evie lost her breath for a moment. “I didn’t realise that Ostwick let their mages train for combat.”

“Who said they let us?” Evie replied, swiping at the back of his knees. She only got one, and to her disgruntlement, he kept his balance. He was heavier than the people she was used to sparring with. He used the momentum from her blow to reach for her shoulder, and she only just managed to block it. “Where did you serve, anyway?”

“Kinloch Hold,” he said, stepping back and then lunging forward. Evie caught the blow with her staff, but it still managed to clip her jaw, which technically counted as a point. Not that they were keeping score, except that Evie was definitely keeping score and they were now eight to eight.

“That was a bag of cats,” she replied. Her attack caught on his staff and he almost managed to spin it out of her hands, but she was nimbler than that. “Were you there during the Blight? And the blood mages?”

“I was,” the templar agreed. His next strike glanced off her staff and forced her to take a step back.

“Andraste’s tits that must’ve been awful,” Evie said without thinking. She took advantage of his confusion to lash out and bring the score back to 9-8. “For the mages, I mean.”

“Naturally,” the templar replied flatly, renewing the assault. Evie hadn’t thought he was holding back before, but a new reserve of strength seemed to have come over him. She had to keep giving ground to stay upright and she didn’t care for that at all. “And then, they transferred me to Kirkwall.”

Evie’s stomach turned, and she was so stunned she forgot to fight back. The templar’s staff connected with the back of her knees and she fell to the snow hard enough it knocked the wind out of her lungs.

Everyone knew about Kirkwall, at least all of the people she was connected to in the mage rebellion. She hadn’t agreed with Anders’ decision to blow up the chantry – at all – but the things they’d done in Kirkwall, the ease with which their Knight-Commander wielded the Brand of Tranquillity…When she’d met Hawke and Anders as she was smuggling them through Ostwick, Hawke had told her about the templars in Kirkwall. Of course, at the time he’d been angrier than a rage demon and so she wasn’t really prepared to take his word for it that “even the remaining templars had done more to stop the fighting than Anders” and that the completely addled Knight-Commander’s second-in-command had been particularly helpful. And to hear that Max’s templar had actually  _ been  _ there?

“Are you alright, Lady Trevelyan?” the templar asked, reaching down a hand to help her up.

Evie snarled and caught her leg against the front of his ankles. Since he was already leaning forward to help pull her up, he pitched into the snow. By the time he’d managed to roll over onto his back, she had him straddled and pinned with her staff against his throat.

“A templar from  _ Kirkwall _ ?” she hissed. He didn’t try to unseat her, which just made her angrier. “And what? I’m just supposed to take Garrett Hawke at face value when he said some of you actually helped in the end? That Knight-Captain Rutherford actually stood against Meredith?”

For reasons Evie couldn’t begin to fathom, all of the fight visibly drained from the templar. In their sparring match, his hair had come loose and a few golden curls fell into his face, and he brushed them back in mild irritation before taking hold of the staff across his throat and pressing upwards. Even if she could knock him down, she wasn’t a match for him in a one-to-one test of strength. She tipped backwards so she was sitting in the snow by the time he sat up.

“Lady Trevelyan, do you not know my name?” he asked.

Evie gaped at him, preparing to be offended, and then realised she didn’t. They’d spent half an hour sparring, they’d been living in the same village for weeks, and she actually didn’t know his name.

“No,” she admitted.

The templar stared at her in complete silence. It made the back of Evie’s neck prickle uncomfortably, which was when she realised how they were sitting. Even though she was sitting on the snow and not on him, her legs were still draped across his hips from when he’d knocked her out of her straddling position. They both still held the staff.

Before Evie could flush and run away, footsteps sounded behind her.

“Erm…” a voice she assumed belonged to one of the soldiers or recruits said. “Knight-Captain, Harritt says he’s almost done fixing your armour but he needs your input.”

_ Knight-Captain. _

The title echoed in Evie’s mind before running down her spine like chills and pooling in her stomach. The templar didn’t break eye contact with her.

“That isn’t my title any longer,” he said, and Evie really couldn’t tell if he was speaking to her or the recruit. “Tell Harritt I’ll be there in a moment.”

The templar pulled his legs out from under Evie’s and stood, although he didn’t let go of the staff, and pulled Evie to her feet as well. Belatedly, she realised it was his staff, not hers, and let go like it had burned her. As if anything was actually capable of burning her.

The commander collected the reports he’d been looking at earlier, as well as the staffs before looking back at Evie.

“Lady Trevelyan,” he said, nodding at her in deference. And then he left her in the clearing, a thousand times more conflicted than she’d been before.

* * *

* * *

 

“So, boss.”

Ellana couldn’t help but giggle. She wasn’t sure why the Iron Bull’s voice amused her as much as it did. Probably because it was so different than any elf she’d ever heard.

“Yes,” Max replied, ducking as he rode under a tree branch.

“You’re headed to the Hinterlands to find some Grey Warden?” Iron Bull asked.

“That’s the plan,” Max said. “Why?”

“I was wondering if I shouldn’t stop by Haven and introduce myself to this Nightingale,” Iron Bull said.

“And check on your men?” Max added.

“Yeah,” Iron Bull replied.

“Yeah, of course,” Max said. “I can go myself if all of you want to go back.”

“No offence, Herald, but I worry you would try to negotiate again,” Cassandra said.

“I can’t let you go anywhere alone with Cassandra,” Varric said. “The two of you combined are probably the worst negotiating team I could think of, even in a novel.”

Cassandra started to say something in her own defence – Ellana couldn’t imagine what she might possibly say – but Sera interrupted.

“If they’re both going, I’m going,” she announced. “I’ve got money on whether they’re going to kill each other or bonk each other first.”

The entire party fell silent. Varric and Cassandra stared straight ahead, wracked with horror, and Max looked like he’d just been presented with a dead bird by a proud cat; the cat knew it had done something excellent, Max knew the cat thought it had done something good, but Max also knew there was a dead bird on his boots.

“Who, exactly, put up that bet, Buttercup?” Varric asked.

“I dunno, people,” Sera replied.

“That’s not an answer,” Varric said. “And what about you, Violet? Coming for the Grey Warden or heading back to Haven?”

“I might go back to Haven, if you don’t need me, Max,” Ellana said. “I’m worried about Evie being stuck with the other mages.”

“She’s got Sparkler,” Varric pointed out.

“And Vivienne and Fiona,” Ellana added, which made Varric wince appreciatively. “And I want to check on Fenlen.”

“Yeah, sure,” Max said, smiling quickly at her. “You can show the Iron Bull the way back to home base.”

Ellana nodded in agreement, and they parted ways at midday the next day of riding - Max, Varric, Cassandra, and Sera heading back to the Hinterlands, Ellana and the Iron Bull heading into the Frostbacks.

Ellana liked the Frostbacks. They had the Vimmark Mountains near the places her clan had always roamed, but the Frostbacks were something else entirely. Some of the peaks looked like they might even touch the sky, if she could find a way to climb to the top. She thought she might want to, someday. Once the Breach was closed and Thedas stopped being at war with itself.

The road to Haven was nice as well. The actual quality of the road didn’t befit the Inquisition, but the tall evergreen trees that lined it were dusted with snow and looked like a painting. The birds that hadn’t flown north for the winter chirped at them as they rode past, and Ellana wished she could tell them apart just by their songs. But she’d always been better with things like halla and horses.

“So, uh, you don’t talk much.”

Ellana startled, and remembered she was travelling with another person. The last time she’d travelled with just one person, it had been Mahanon, and he never expected her to talk.

“Er, not much,” Ellana agreed.

Her Dalish All-Bred looked dainty compared to the massive warhorse the Iron Bull had to ride in order to find a horse that could carry him.

“Is it because everyone else talks so much you can’t get a word in edgewise, or just because you don’t really like talking?” he asked.

Ellana considered. It was true that the friends she’d made outside the clan – Evie, Dorian, Max, Varric – talked an awful lot, usually over each other or in tandem. But they would definitely give her space to talk if she wanted it. She’d just never really talked back with the clan.

“I guess I just don’t have a lot of practice,” she decided.

Bull’s eyebrows rose up his forehead like he hadn’t considered that was an option. “Not a lot of practice at…talking…”

Ellana shrugged. “Do you talk a lot?”

“I like to know the people I spend time with,” he said. He scanned her for a second and then nodded. “Alright, let’s start small. What’s your horse’s name?”

“Shiral,” Ellana replied promptly. “It means ‘journey’ in  _ elvhen. _ ”

“Alright,” Bull said. “Maybe you could tell me all of Varric’s nicknames for the people back at Haven so I can freak them out just a little.”

Ellana laughed, which startled a squirrel in a nearby tree. It chittered angrily at them as they rode past.

“Max’s twin sister, Evelyn, shares my cabin,” Ellana said. “Varric calls her Firefly. She looks just like Max. Then there’s Dorian, who is Tevinter so he stands out because all his clothes are sparkly. Varric calls him Sparkler.”

Iron Bull pulled a face of dismay that made Ellana’s ears twitch. “There’s a ‘Vint in the Inquisition?” he asked.

“Isn’t your lieutenant from Tevinter?” Ellana replied.

“Yeah, but he’s just Krem,” Bull said.

Ellana shrugged. “Dorian’s just Dorian.”

“Fine,” Bull said with a sigh. “Who else is there?”

“The advisors, the ones who run the Inquisition, are Josephine Montilyet – she’s the ambassador, she’s from Antiva, and Varric calls her Ruffles. Then there’s the commander, Cullen Rutherford, who is Fereldan and called Curly. And then there’s Sister Leliana, who is Orlesian, and Varric just calls her Nightingale, but I think it’s because he’s afraid of her.”

Bull laughed and pushed a low-hanging bough out of the way before Ellana could run into it.

“The only other people-people from the Inquisition you haven’t met are Vivienne, and you’ll know who she is the second you meet her, and Varric calls her Iron Lady. And then there’s Solas, who is an elven mage, called Chuckles,” Ellana finished.

“Another elf, huh?” Bull asked, side-eyeing her. “A city elf like Sera or a Dalish elf like you?”

Ellana shrugged, because she genuinely didn’t know. She just didn’t like him. He was, as Sera put it,  _ too  _ elfy.

They lapsed into comfortable silence as they headed up the mountainside. They’d reach Haven just a little after nightfall, so Ellana was willing to just do the trip in one day, and when she proposed the idea to Bull, he agreed as well.

They could see the warm lights of the village before Bull spoke again.

“I thought the Dalish travelled in clans,” he said.

“We do,” Ellana replied. “Why?”

“I’m still trying to figure out how you would be out of practice at  _ talking _ ,” he said.

“I was apprenticed to the halla keeper,” Ellana explained.

“Okay, so you’re better with halla than with people, but what about friends? Or boyfriends or girlfriends?” Bull asked as they rode across the bridge to the village.

Ellana shrugged again. “I just had Mahanon.”

It hurt a little less every time she said it. The further they got from the Conclave, the less the loss burned in her heart.

“And Mahanon is…” Bull prompted.

“He was my friend,” Ellana said, dismounting her horse. “He died at the Conclave.”

Bull made a small noise of condolence and let her show him to the stables. He took care of his horse himself, Ellana noted, although she wondered if that had something to do with the fact the main stableman was Dennet who was fairly small for a human, and Bull’s horse was massive. Ellana took care of her own as well, and left the stables only after she’d given Shiral an apple and put a few new braids in his mane.

Her first stop in Haven was her cabin, where she collected Fenlen. He was over the moon to see her and cuddled right into his sling before she made her way to the tavern. Evie and Dorian were wedged into a small table in the corner and their drinks looked like they were going dry, so Ellana’s first stop was the bar to get all three of them refills. She announced her presence by setting the drinks down and then folding herself onto the edge of Evie’s seat.

“You’re back!” Dorian enthused. “Just in time. Dear Evelyn is having a crisis.”

“It’s not a crisis,” Evie groaned, thanking Ellana for the drink and proceeding to finish most of it in one go.

“Despair?” Dorian suggested. Evie frowned at him.

“What happened?” Ellana asked. “Was it the other mages?”

“No, it was the templar,” Evie said. Ellana had figured out early on after their arrival in Haven that it was the only way Evie would refer to Commander Cullen. Ellana preferred Curly, as a name.

“What about him?” Ellana asked.

“It appears that Evie hated him on principle for being a templar – perfectly justifiable as a southern mage – except that he actually comes recommended by an old friend who she trusts,” Dorian explained. “And now that she knows who he is, she feels slightly guilty for being a complete witch to him since we arrived.”

“Now that you know…we’ve been here for a month,” Ellana said, blinking at Evie in confusion. “How did you  _ just  _ learn who he is?”

“I – look, I figured out he was a templar, and then blocked out any other details about him,” Evie said.

Ellana raised her eyebrows and glanced at Dorian. “Even his face?”

“If it were me, my crisis would certainly be over his face rather than his identity,” Dorian agreed.

“If it were you, you’d have slept with him already,” Evie replied, and Ellana snickered.

“Of course I wouldn’t have,” Dorian said. “He simply reeks of heterosexuality.”

He took a drink and looked pensive.

“Or, no, I think there might be circumstances where that rule might bend, but it would require more effort than I’m currently willing to expend,” he decided.

Ellana laughed, and even Evie snorted into her drink.

“It might be bad for you, Dorian, but it’s great news for Evie,” Ellana pointed out brightly.

Dorian cackled when Evie groaned.

“Maker’s balls, no,” she said. “No, I’m never sleeping with another templar as long as I live.”

“What about a Qunari?” Ellana asked.

Dorian grimaced and recoiled. “Why would you ask such a horrible thing?”

“We found one on the Storm Coast,” Ellana replied.

“And what? Brought it home like a lost pet?” Dorian asked.

“No, he’s the leader of the Bull’s Chargers mercenary group,” Ellana said. “He’s in the Inquisition now.”

Dorian gaped like a hooked fish, and then finished off his drink.

“He was just as thrilled that there’s a Tevinter in the inner circle,” Ellana said.

Dorian hummed. “I suppose I can’t begrudge him that. But I think I’ll stick with hornless men, if it’s all the same.”

This brought Evie out of her despair regarding the commander. Because she peered across the table at Dorian inquisitively.

“Any hornless men in particular? Or just the hypothetical ‘if you wanted to take the time to teach the commander he isn’t entirely straight’?” Evie asked.

“The hypothetical, of course,” Dorian said with a wave of his hand. Ellana wasn’t sure Evie could hear him when he added, “since Heralds of Andraste wouldn’t be interested in Tevinter mages.”

By the time they finished their drinks, it was too late for Ellana to make any sort of report to the council, and she was also a little unsteady on her feet, so she and Evie stumbled off to their cabin together. Ellana was slightly hungover the next morning when they woke up piled together like puppies, Fenlen happily sprawled between them with his belly skyward.

“Damn the Circle,” Evie groaned, pressing the heels of her hands to her temples.

“Any particular reason?” Ellana asked, scratching Fenlen’s tummy with a single finger. He snorted in approval.

“I’m going to need about four years to catch up to Dorian’s alcohol tolerance,” Evie complained, and Ellana snickered.

“I think that has less to do with the Circle than it does with Dorian,” she pointed out. She sat up and scratched the snarls out of her hair, leaving Evie to fend for herself, as Ellana really was supposed to report. “I’ll see if I can find you any breakfast while I’m out.”

“No, no I’ll get up,” Evie promised, but she’d already wrapped her arms around Fenlen and fallen back to sleep by the time Ellana made it to the door. Ellana giggled and headed out of their cabin towards the chantry.

She paused to pick the leaves off an elfroot plant and chew on them before she headed to the war room. She passed Vivienne – who didn’t really seem to have a problem with her, for which she was grateful – and the chantry Mother Giselle, and found a man she recognised as the lieutenant of the Chargers waiting outside the war room door as well.

“Lieutenant Aclassi, right?” Ellana asked.

“Krem,” he corrected. “But yes. And you’re Ella? Or Violet? Or…”

“Ellana,” she said, smiling a little at his confusion. “Are you meeting with the council?”

Krem shrugged. “The chief might be running around with the Herald of Andraste and all, but we’re still a perfectly good company. There has to be some way they could use us.”

Ellana nodded in understanding, and then knocked on the council door when it became clear Krem wasn’t going to. They were bidden to enter, and stepped inside to see Josephine, Cullen, and Leliana arguing over something.

“Ah! Mistress Lavellan,” Josephine said. “You have a report from the Storm Coast?”

Ellana agreed and delivered it with as little fuss as possible. She wasn’t out of practice at  _ talking  _ on the whole, just maybe at casual conversation with people she wasn’t already friends with.

“And you’re Lieutenant Aclassi, correct?” the commander asked, scanning Krem.

“Yes, ser,” Krem agreed. “I was thinking there had to be a way for the Inquisition to use the rest of the Chargers while the chief goes around with the Herald.”

The advisors exchanged looks and then seemed to defer to Leliana.

“How are your men at covert operations, Lieutenant?” she asked.

“We do fine,” Krem replied.

Leliana considered and then beckoned them over to the map. Ellana assumed the others had simply forgotten she was there, but she’d take the opportunity to look anyway. Leliana pointed at a spot on the map, a few days west of Lake Calenhad.

“Therinfal Redoubt,” she said, tapping the spot. “We tracked the renegade templars to the castle, and had considered allying with them for a time.”

“Until Maxwell Trevelyan turned out to be the Herald of Andraste,” Cullen muttered, and Leliana smacked him lightly in the side. He winced a disproportionate amount and Ellana wondered who else had been whacking him recently.

“Commander, are you alright?” Josephine asked, bright and concerned.

“I’m fine,” he said, but he kept his hand clamped to his side. When he realised that everyone else in the room was staring at him with complete disbelief, he groaned. “I found myself in a sparring situation with, erm, Lady Trevelyan. I’m fine.”

Ellana felt both her eyebrows raise towards her hairline.  _ Evie  _ had been the one to whack the commander then. She assumed it was with a staff.

“Oh Commander,” Leliana said, sounding resigned and disappointed at the same time. “Another mage?”

“What? No!” Cullen exclaimed. “No, it’s nothing like – Maker’s breath.”

He cut off when Leliana started laughing at him.

“Anyway, Thernifal Redoubt, where all the templars withdrew, has gone silent,” Leliana said, redirecting her attention to Krem. “We were hoping to get an expedition together to examine it, but our best trained operatives are scouts, not infiltrators.”

“The Chargers would be happy to undertake that task, ma’am,” Krem said.

Leliana nodded, and then looked down at the map again with a small wrinkle in her brow. “I would prefer to have someone from the Inquisition accompany you, but I’m not sure who…”

“I’ll go,” Ellana heard herself say.

The council took a moment to consider her, but Krem seemed to have already accepted this as the course of events because he nodded and promised to talk to the chief and see if it flew with him, and convince him if it did not.

“It’s a reconnaissance mission,” Ellana said to the council. “That’s what I’m good at. After all, my keeper did send me as a spy to the Conclave.”

She only felt guilty about the lie when the council readily agreed and approved her wish to accompany the Chargers. But a little white lie never hurt anyone, surely.

* * *

* * *

 

_ H – _

_ Worst news I’ve had since I’ve been with these people. Remember the Seeker I told you about? Well it turns out that some people in the Inquisition actually have money on whether or not she and I are going to sleep together or kill each other first. Whoever actually put money on the former clearly needs a lesson in how you build a romance. You can’t just have antagonism that turns into impassioned embracing. You’ve got to have substance. There’s got to be undiscovered common ground, some change in perspective that makes one party realise the other isn’t actually the worst person they’ve ever met, and then makes them soften just a little. And let me tell you, the Seeker does not have a soft side. _

_ So, as you’d expect, I’m tracking down every single person who runs a betting pool around here and I’m going to find them and take over their betting schemes. I want to see someone try to place a bet on me and the Seeker while they have to look me in the eye to do it. _

_ I hope you’re okay and that Blondie is still Blondie. _

- _ V _

* * *

* * *

 

Max made his report on their progress in the Hinterlands in record time because he could hear the mages yelling at each other in their meeting room. He could hear Solas attempting to keep order, while Vivienne and Evie snarked at each other, occasionally with Dorian’s interjections, and from the looks on the advisors’ faces, they were tired of hearing all this as well.

“Are we any closer to figuring out how to close the Breach?” Max asked.

“There are some--” Josephine’s explanation was cut off by the sound of a small explosion, and a door banging open. Max smelled smoke, but there was limited screaming so he didn’t feel compelled to investigate. “—disagreements.”

“Uh huh,” Max said. “What can we do in the meantime?”

“We received a report from a place called the Fallow Mire,” Cullen said.

“Charming,” Max replied.

“Quite,” Cullen said. “Apparently some of our soldiers have been taken hostage and the captor will only negotiate with the Herald of Andraste.”

Max sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Maybe, once they had the Breach closed, if the Inquisition still needed him to help deal with this Elder One who’d been calling the shots, he’d have Josephine give him negotiation lessons. His previously learned tactics – put a knife against their throat until they either piss themselves or start talking – didn’t work in most diplomatic situations without exacerbating everything.

“I’ll assemble a party,” Max promised. “Did Ella and the Iron Bull make it back to Haven safely? I haven’t had a chance to check in with everyone.”

“They did,” Leliana said. “The Iron Bull is camped near the soldiers if you wanted to speak to him, but I’m afraid you missed Mistress Lavellan. She and the Chargers have gone to investigate Therinfal Redoubt.”

Max nodded in understanding, promised to have his party assembled by nightfall, and leave for the Fallow Mire at first light. He wasn’t in charge of the Inquisition, so it made no difference to him if he was in Haven or working for them elsewhere. And if people wanted to kidnap their soldiers and hold them for ransom until he showed up, he’d deal with it.

He’d almost made it out of the chantry when Evie flung her arms around him. She reeked of fire, which made Max nervous, but when he glanced over her shoulder, he discovered Dorian and as Dorian looked unconcerned, he decided not to be.

“Save me,” Evie requested. “Please.”

“From what?” Max asked.

“Vivienne,” Evie said, hiding her face in his shoulder.

“I can’t,” Max replied, petting her hair since it would be unkind to laugh at her despair. “I have to go to some charming place called the Fallow Mire.”

Evie stepped back from his embrace so she could stare at him imploringly. “Take me with you,” she said. “Please.”

Max frowned. “Don’t you have to help plan for the assault on the Breach?”

“They’re still in the ‘who has the most authority to yell at everyone else’ stage of the deliberations,” Dorian said. “I don’t think they’ll need either of us for quite some time.”

“Take me with you or I’ll never speak to you again,” Evie added, which was much more direct, and, in Max’s opinion, persuasive.

Max agreed, and agreed to Dorian as well by extension, and then set about trying to convince once of their warriors to come with him. Cassandra’s response of “The Fallow Mire? Ugh,” got her out of it, and the Iron Bull explained that he was sorry but Leliana wanted to pick his brain for any and all Ben-Hassrath knowledge he had. Blackwall, on the other hand, replied that there were some abandoned Grey Warden camps in the Fallow Mire and he’d like to see if he could find anything of value to the order that got left behind, so yes, he’d accompany them.

To their collective surprise, Leliana offered to watch Ella and Evie’s nug, Fenlen, in their absence.

“How did you end up with a pet nug, Evie?” Max asked as the four of them rode south.

“He’s Ella’s,” Evie replied. “I’m not sure where she got him. Did you pick that up, Dorian?”

“I think she made some comment about him finding her in the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Dorian said, turning up his collar against the rains that started beyond the borders of the Hinterlands. He looked cold and miserable, but somehow the damp didn’t destroy the kohl under his eyes, or make him look any less fashionable, and Max was absolutely not staring.

“And this…Ella person kept a nug?” Blackwall asked.

“Ellana Lavellan,” Evie and Dorian supplied in unison.

“She’s the Inquisition’s best tracker,” Evie said. “And she’s very good with animals. She was the apprentice to her clan’s halla keeper before the Conclave.”

Blackwall nodded in understanding.

They reached the Fallow Mire after a week of quick riding, and as soon as they met up with Scout Harding and got the summary of the land, Max regretted everything. Everyone who’d lived in the Fallow Mire had died recently of a plague, and undead kept rising from the bogs to attack people, which were accompanied by the leggy demons Max absolutely hated, and wraiths that tried to possess their individual limbs while they fought back.

The only good thing Max could say for the Fallow Mire was that when they reached the broken down keep where the Inquisition soldiers were being kept, the Avvar lord waiting for them had a different definition of “negotiate” than Josephine did.

“I would challenge the Herald of Andraste to a fight to the death!” the man bellowed, pointing his giant maul at Max.

“Oh thank the Maker,” Max breathed.

“This is what you pray for?” Blackwall asked incredulously while Evie lit a line of archers on fire and Dorian sent a shock of lightning through the group approaching them. While they wavered, stunned, Max darted between them, and tried to make their deaths as quick as possible. Having an obsidian knife cut so quickly through one’s throat that it sliced the nerves in half couldn’t have been painless, but Max figured that was somewhat kinder than using his iron knife, which had nearly started to rust in the dampness of the Mire.

“I’m a terrible negotiator!” Max called back, rolling out of the way as the Avvar tried to smash him with his maul.

“It’s true, he got us flung into the future,” Dorian added, trying to shock the Avvar leader. To Max’s dismay, the massive man managed to shrug off the effects of Dorian’s spell.

“That was not entirely my fault,” Max protested, leaping backwards while the Avvar swung the maul in a circle. Fortunately, Blackwall smashed into him with his shield, and then battered him again when the Avvar tried to move. Max took advantage of the situation and stabbed the man through the neck.

All four of them were exhausted from fighting through the swarms of undead, and then the Avvar. As soon as Max let the soldiers out of their cell and told them to go find Scout Harding, they collapsed onto the ruined steps of the keep.

“That was a bloody slog,” Blackwall said, taking off his helmet and wiping his brow with his forearm. Whatever he’d hoped to achieve by the motion was quickly ruined by the drizzling rain coming through the broken roof.

“Really? I found it more damp than bloody,” Dorian replied, and then started fishing in his satchel for something.

“You haven’t really looked at the Herald then,” Blackwall said. Evie snorted, which turned to full laughter after Dorian leaned around her to stare at Max.

Max could at least be thankful he was covered in blood because it hid the flush that coloured his face as Dorian’s eyes trailed up his body before finally meeting his eyes. Dorian had very nice eyes, in Max’s opinion. He liked the way they’d gone soft – even if it was from exhaustion – and how bright a grey they were in contrast to the kohl he wore.

“Yes, Max, how did you get so completely drenched in blood?” Dorian asked, finally tearing his eyes away and renewing his search through his satchel.

“I don’t--”

“He goes for the throat,” Blackwall interrupted. “Throats spray when you slice them. They spray a little less if you’ve got them bleeding somewhere else first though. I think if you went low for the thigh first, got a good bleed going there, and then went for the throat, you’d get a little less bloody.”

Dead silence met Blackwall’s analysis, apart from the bog crickets chirping and the rain pattering on the broken roof and the floor and the four of them.

“What?” Blackwall asked.

“Your logic is sound, but unnerving,” Max replied.

“What?” Blackwall protested. Maybe he even sounded defensive. Max couldn’t be sure. “Your Inquisition is in the business of killing a lot of people. Better to do it efficiently.”

“I thought slicing throats was fairly efficient,” Max said.

“Sure, but it’s messy,” Blackwall said. “I dread to think what your lady ambassador tells people after you turn up soaked in blood like that.”

“Well fine, but how do I avoid the arterial spray from the thigh if I stab there first?” Max asked.

“Not that this conversation isn’t riveting,” Dorian interrupted. “But I’d rather not spend the rest of our time in the Fallow Mire vomiting, so if you wouldn’t mind shutting up.”

“Don’t you like blood, Tevinter?” Blackwall asked. “Isn’t that what your people do?”

Dorian glowered at him, and finally unearthed the thing he’d been looking for in his bag. It proved to be a bottle of alcohol and Max could’ve kissed him for it.

“Well I believe  _ your  _ people fight darkspawn, and yet here you are,” Dorian said, pulling the cork out and inspecting the label with a dubious expression. “It says it’s ‘Dragon Piss’, what do you reckon?”

He took a healthy swig and his eyes went wide. He cleared his throat and took a moment to massage his chest before passing the bottle to Evie.

“Where did you get that?” Max asked while Evie drank.

She managed to swallow, but then coughed heartily and handed the bottle to Max.

“It was in one of the huts we passed,” Dorian said. “When we got lost after the fourth beacon and those awful beasts.”

Max took a drink and wondered if this was what it was like to be lit on fire. His entire mouth went numb almost immediately, but his throat burned the whole way down and he could feel it in his head almost as soon as he swallowed. He was by no means a light drinker, but this was beyond.

“Well that’ll clear your sinuses,” he said, and realised his eyes were watering just a bit.

Evie laughed, and Max handed the bottle to Blackwall. The grizzled veteran considered it, took a drink, and then considered some more, without any visible adverse side effects.

“Make a decent Antivan Cocktail,” he declared, and handed the bottle back to Dorian.

“You think the Antivans would drink this for fun in a bar?” Dorian asked, but Max noted he took another drink anyway.

“No, an Antivan Cocktail, it’s…” Max considered the best explanation. “So you take a bottle of alcohol that is mostly undrinkable, like our Dragon Piss here, and stick a cloth wick in it, light it on fire, and throw it.”

“Sounds effective,” Evie replied, taking another drink and handing the bottle to Max. He was a little concerned they were all going to go blind, but at some point, Scout Harding would surely come looking for them and drag their sorry asses back to Haven.

“It’s not actually Antivan,” Max continued. The second drink of Dragon Piss went down smoother, but he felt somewhat convinced that it was because the nerves in his throat were dead. “It’s from, erm,  _ quei bastardi dall’altra parte del mare. _ ”

He was vaguely aware of the others staring at him and realised belatedly he had not been speaking Trade.

“Did you…I’m sorry, do you speak Antivan?” Dorian asked, sounding delighted.

“Our mum was Antivan,” Evie said. She was starting to wilt from the alcohol and Max didn’t blame her one bit. She started to list to the side to rest her head on Max’s shoulder, remembered at the last moment he was covered in blood, and changed course to rest her head on Dorian’s instead. It was on his bare shoulder, and for a moment Max was insanely envious of Evie’s proximity to Dorian’s skin, and then mentally shook himself.

“And I lived there for about a year,” Max added, taking the bottle back from Blackwall.

“I think what he was trying to say is that Antivan Cocktails aren’t actually from Antiva,” Blackwall said. “The Antivans blame the Rivaini, the Rivaini blame the Nevarrans, and the Nevarrans blame the Antivans.”

“Then why is it called an Antivan Cocktail?” Dorian asked. He took one of the last drinks from the bottle and handed it to Evie despite her condition.

“Because the rest of southern Thedas also blames the Antivans,” Blackwall said.

Max hummed in agreement and took the penultimate drink before handing it to Blackwall to finish off. Max was ashamed to say that he was the second drunkest of their party as they made their way back to camp. Blackwall had to carry Evie on his back while visibly unnerved as she conjured floating raindrops of fire in her palms, which were held in front of Blackwall’s breastplate, and a little too close to his magnificent beard for comfort.

“Say something else in Antivan,” Dorian requested while they stumbled along the thoroughfare towards camp. Max was busy carefully avoiding every puddle they passed, lest it spawn undead at him.

“ _ Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, mi ritrovai per una selva oscura, ché la diritta via era smarrita _ ,” Max recited. Dorian, third drunkest, actually giggled before stumbling slightly. One of his feet touched the water and Max swore loudly as a shambling corpse started to lurch towards them.

“Oh no!” Evie exclaimed, and forced her hands out like she was pushing the corpse away, despite the fact it was at least twenty feet from them. A blast of fire hit it square in the chest and it screeched before collapsing back into the water.

“If she lights my beard on fire, Herald, I’m holding you responsible,” Blackwall grumbled.

“Fair,” Max said. He threw an arm around Dorian’s shoulders and steered him away from the water. “Say something in Tevene.”

“People don’t really speak Tevene anymore,” Dorian said. “We just speak Trade like everyone else.”

“You swear in Tevene all the time,” Max said, aware he sounded a bit whiny and bratty. “Come on, say something. A poem for a poem.”

“Oh is that what you said?” Dorian asked. “Fine, give me a moment.”

He considered, and as he thought, Max realised he hadn’t shrugged Max’s arm off his shoulders, and had actually draped his own arm around Max’s waist. Max was prepared to be delighted, until they both stumbled and only avoided falling over because they were supporting each other.

“ _Mellitos_ _oculos_ _tuos_ _,_ _Iuventi_ _,_ _siquis_ _me_ _sinat_ _usque_ _basiare_ _,_ _usque_ _ad_ _milia_ _basiem_ _trecenta_ _,_ _nec_ _unquam_ _videar_ _satur_ _futurus_ _,_ _non_ _si_ _densior_ _aridis_ _aristis_ _sit_ _nostrae_ _seges_ _osculationis_ ,” Dorian recited.

“What does that mean?” Max asked, but Dorian just giggled, and refused to translate it.

Their ride back north the next day was punctuated by groaning and occasional stopping to vomit on the side of the road. Scout Harding rode back with them, and seemed at once amused and disappointed in their collective state of being. The only reason Max knew Blackwall was as hungover as the rest of them was that he didn’t speak a single word the entire day, and at one point, fell asleep on his horse. It made Max feel slightly better about it all.

Any joviality vanished when they were met at the stables by the council.

“They did it,” Josephine said, clapping her hands together once.

“Did what?” Evie asked.

Leliana looked between them and smiled for just a moment. “It seems,” she said. “We know how to close the Breach.”  

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided that Antivan was Italian for the purposes of this story. Technically, the beginning of a poem that Max recites is in medieval Italian, specifically the opening lines of Dante's Inferno. 
> 
> Dorian's Tevene poem is actually Catullus 48, in the original Latin. Because my master's in medieval history is requiring me to take Latin, so I have Catullus on the brain a lot. 
> 
> As an aside, Dante's Inferno is about going into hell, and Catullus 48 is about never being satisfied with the number of kisses his boyfriend would give him, if that tells you anything about where these characters are emotionally.


	9. Therinfal Redoubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, the Breach.

Travelling with the Chargers reminded Ellana of what the other groups in the clan had looked like when they were travelling. While she’d been mostly alone to mind the halla, the others had chatted with their friends and shared cooking tasks and fallen in love and teased each other. The Chargers seemed to do all the same things – maybe without the falling in love – but Ellana was included. She helped Stitches gather some herbs for building up their poultice supply, and she got to help Rocky fish. It wasn’t what she usually thought of as fishing since Rocky dropped an explosive device in a small lake and it was Ella’s job to scoop the dead fish off the surface, but she was still part of it.

When they made camp at night, she sat around the fire with all of them while they kindly mocked each other about questionable stories from their past adventures, like the time Rocky had tried to light a pipe only to realise he actually had a small bomb between his teeth instead,  and the time they’d lost Grim in a town on the Nevarran border and found him days later in traditional military uniform with a wedding ring and not a word of explanation. Dalish was the first to ask about Ellana’s clan.

“Clan Lavellan, right?” she asked. “In the Free Marches?”

Ellana nodded.

“Hey, Grim, we found you a silent friend!” Stitches said, clapping Grim on the shoulder. Grim grunted while Ellana flushed.

“We’re from the northern Marches,” Ellana said. “Near Wycome.”

“She speaks!” Skinner exclaimed.

“Oh, leave off teasing the kid, Skinner,” Stitches scolded. Skinner tackled him across the fire for his trouble and any attention they’d been paying to Ellana was now devoted to Rocky, Dalish, and Grim swapping money for bets on who was going to win: the bellicose elf or the human healer.

“Don’t let them bother you,” Krem said quietly. “They don’t mean anything by it.”

“It’s fine,” Ellana replied, and meant it wholeheartedly. “I’d only ever had one person talk to me enough to tease me about anything before I joined the Inquisition.”

Krem raised his eyebrows in concern, but didn’t pry.

As they got closer to the templar stronghold, Ellana started to notice something decidedly wrong about the countryside they were passing through. The turf had been trampled to such an extent that it was full of great wells of mud and muck; tree branches in narrower parts of the thoroughfare had been snapped and bent apart; small pieces of camp detritus littered the edges of the roadway; and one or two pieces of fabric had been caught in some of the trees. When they passed the dangling fabric, Ellana stood on her saddle and jumped up to catch the branch and collect the fabric. When it was in hand, she dropped back down, ending up side-saddle like some of the sillier-dressed human nobles tended to do.

“What is it?” Krem asked.

“I think it’s a piece of a flag,” Ellana said, correcting her seat on Shiral’s back and examining the fabric scrap. It was red, the colour of blood, but that was the only detail. That and the fabric being too rough to have been clothing. “And a massive group migrated through this corridor recently,” she added. “If we’d followed the road, we would’ve run into them.”

Krem looked curious and took the piece of flag, turning it over in his hand and then passing it over to the others to examine. None of them had anything to add, except to express concern that there had been a large force headed away from Therinfal Redoubt. It was only a few more hours riding before they reached the castle itself.

Usually, Ellana liked buildings. She didn’t like them a lot, but she thought the way humans and dwarves worked with stone to build things was sort of interesting in an excessively permanent sort of way.

She did not like the castle Therinfal Redoubt.

It sat low and squat against the skyline in eastern Ferelden and looked more like an extension of the hill it sat upon than it did its own independent structure. The walls were heavy and thick, easily defensible and impenetrable. But mostly, there was a lingering sense of  _ wrongness  _ that hung over the castle like a miasma, or a plague-bearing fog, and it put Ellana’s teeth on edge.

“This is not a good place,” Dalish said. She gripped her staff tighter as their group approached the castle.

“Everyone be on your guard,” Krem instructed. Ellana knocked an arrow while the rest of the group drew their weapons of choice. “The advance scouts said they haven’t seen movement in this area in days, but better safe than dead.”

“Did the advance scouts include the pretty dwarf, Krem  Brûlée  ?” Rocky asked.

Krem shot him a disapproving look and led the way to a side entrance. Skinner picked the locks and let the group of them into the castle grounds. Ellana was the first to gasp in horror and take a step back.

Where there had been castle walls, shards of red lyrium pointed skyward, and where there had been soldiers, templars, there were disfigured corpses riddled through with the red crystals. Some of the skeletons had turned entirely to red, and the flesh was so toxic that not even flies would land on them. The entire castle reeked of decay and death and rot and thrummed with the singing red lyrium.

“What the fuck,” Krem breathed, prodding one of the corpses with his boot. The red bones shattered, too brittle to hold up to impact. Ellana wondered if that was how they’d died.

“What happened here?” she asked. She lowered her bow, but kept it at the ready, in case.

“Dark shit,” Stitches replied. He nudged another corpse, only for it to collapse in on itself.

“How long do we have to stay here?” Rocky asked. “Because I’d rather be literally anywhere else.”

“There had to be other templars,” Krem said. “More than just what’s here. We should spread out and take a look. No one put your weapons down. I don’t trust this place.”

Ellana didn’t need to be told twice. She kept an arrow at the ready while she examined what might once have been a dining hall, and made her way up a flight of stairs towards what must have been the main keep.

Her steps were silent on the stone, and from other parts of the castle, she could hear the Chargers making small noises. They seemed like the sorts of noises people made when they were trying to convince themselves not to be afraid of the dark, the small soothing hums and whistles people used to make them feel less alone. It was hard to distinguish them from the hum of the lyrium.

Behind her, a pebble skittered on a stair.

Ellana whirled around, arrow drawn back to full length. She had the space of a panicked heartbeat to acknowledge the person looking at her was not one of the Chargers before she was…somewhere else.

In confusion, Ellana spun, staring through the green mist to try and make sense of her surroundings. She didn’t recognise any landmarks, and couldn’t figure out how she’d gone from being in the castle to being…here.

_ I will know you _ .

The voice echoed through the space she was in, and more horrified than she thought she’d ever been, Ellana stepped forward.

_ You are not the one I wanted, but you are close. _

“Who did you want?” Ellana asked, because she didn’t know what else she was supposed to do with a disembodied voice. The green mist around her flared, and suddenly she was standing in the war room in Haven. It wasn’t quite right, though. Everything was still the same sickly green colour, and where the council’s eyes ought to have been, there was just green that glowed like Max’s mark. That glowed like the fade rifts.

“What are they planning?” the shade of Leliana asked, and then Max was there, pacing in front of the council. Ellana drew her bow back.

“What do you know?” the shade of Josephine added.

“What will you tell us?” the shade of Cullen demanded.

“Tell me!” The shade of Max vaulted over the table and reached forward to grab Ellana by the shoulders and shake her, but Ellana let her arrow fly.

It couldn’t be reality, any form of reality, she reasoned, because her arrow actually went right through the shade and into the shade of Leliana. All four of them and the war room vanished in a wisp of fog.

_ You will tell me what you know, Ellana Lavellan. _

“No,” Ellana replied, scanning the area for the source of the voice, and then stepping forward again. When the scenery changed, she was suddenly in a forest she recognised from childhood. It was one of the places her clan had stopped. Little Ellana, age maybe eight, with her wavy white hair down to her waist, hid behind the shoulder of a spectral halla, her ears perking up and shifting in time to the animal’s.

“Where’d Halla-Ears go?” a shade of one of the other kids her age asked, running past Ellana’s hiding spot.

_ Poor little Ellana. No friends. No family. _

Adult Ellana – real Ellana, she reminded herself – skirted around the spectre of herself, and past the shades of the other children. They disappeared in the same wisp.

“It’s not real, don’t listen to it.”

This disembodied voice was different, younger somehow. Ellana spun, searching for the source, but all she could see was green mist.

_ Get out, thing! _

Ellana ran. She didn’t think she was the thing the main voice referred to, but she’d also rather not be there anymore. She wanted to get out.

She burst through a doorway and directly into a lovely glade by the bank of a stream. Ellana stopped dead. A shade of Mahanon was stretched out by the water, naked aside from the other torso sprawled across his.

“I can’t believe you have to bond with her,” the shade of Shiala said, trailing a finger up and down Mahanon’s chest.

Ellana – real Ellana, she insisted – looked away and saw the shade of Ellana hiding behind a tree, spying. It felt like a different lifetime, not less than a year ago. She let herself remember, for the first time since his death, that Mahanon was so very good at pretending.

_ Poor Ellana. Your only friend didn’t love you. And now your clan will never take you back because he died and you didn’t. It’s going to be so sad being you. _

“It’s not real! None of this is real! Don’t let him see!”

“This part is,” Ellana said, and walked purposefully through the shades of Mahanon and Shiala, bursting them into mist.

She wasn’t in the woods anymore. She was in a building.

_ And when I’m you, you’ll let the Elder One’s templars right into the gate, lead them right up to the Herald of Andraste, and your puny Inquisition will FALL. _

“Over here!”

The voice, the non-hostile voice, beckoned from the right. Ellana assumed it was a trap, but she went anyway. It was an odd room, a bit like a human bedroom, except all the furniture was on the ceiling. Ellana peered up at it, confused.

“Over here.”

She tore her gaze from the checked bedspread and looked down. A young man was standing in front of her. He had big eyes, but they were mostly hidden by hair almost as blond as hers and a floppy hat that would’ve been funny if this had been reality.

“Envy is inside you,” the boy said, staring at her with his huge eyes. If they’d been the right shape, they almost could’ve been elf eyes. “We’re all inside you. This is just you.”

Ellana blinked at him. “I don’t want to be inside me.”

“You have to keep going up. You’re more you the higher you get.”

Ellana reasoned through it as best she could. “So if I get to my head…”

“You should be able to leave the way you came, and take Envy with you.”

“Envy?” Ellana repeated. “Like the demon Envy?”

“Envy hides,” the boy said. “In places we think we’ve buried it. It festers like a wound and carves you out from inside. You have to keep going up.”

_ Get out, thing! _

The boy vanished with a pop and Ellana jumped back unintentionally.

Go up. Okay, she could go up.

Maybe.

She left the upside-down room and stepped back into the corridor. Except it wasn’t a corridor anymore. It was a tavern. Most of the figures were indistinct, but Evie and Dorian – shades of Evie and Dorian – were sitting at a table. There wasn’t enough room at the table for Ellana.

“Oh, sorry Ellana!” the shade of Evie said. “We’re just talking about mage things.”

“So sorry, Ellana,” the shade of Dorian added. “If you had magic, maybe you could’ve done something. Maybe you could’ve been your Keeper’s first. Maybe you’d even have friends!”

Ellana shuddered, closed her eyes, and marched right through the table. The whole tavern vanished into mist.

“It’s not real!” The boy’s voice said. “Go up!”

Ellana ran forward, and, miraculously, there was a flight of stairs. She raced up them, each step dissolving after her into another puff of green mist.

“It wasn’t real!” the boy said. “They’re your friends! They are!”

“I know,” Ellana replied. The stairs just kept going up. When she looked ahead there weren’t stairs above her and there weren’t stairs below. There was just the stair she was on, and they vanished as soon as her feet left the step.

_ Of course it’s real. Mages, friends with someone who can’t touch the fade? Preposterous. _

“It’s not real,” the boy said.

Of course it wasn’t real. Dalish was friends with Rocky, and dwarves couldn’t touch the fade at all. With the thought, the stairs under her feet grew more solid.

_ A noblewoman, friends with an elf? A  _ Tevinter Magister _ friends with an elf? They don’t care about you Ellana. _

“Sorry, Ellana,” Evie’s disembodied voice said.

“It’s not real,” the boy replied.

The steps ahead of Ellana started to stretch upwards, a solid staircase. A solid staircase topped by a door.

“I know it’s not real,” Ellana said.

_ But how could you ever prove it? _

Ellana was only a step from the door.

“Because they only ever call me Ella,” she replied, and she burst through the door.

It was less than the space of a panicked heartbeat to feel the cool afternoon mist and grey Firstfall air on her skin, to feel the stone of the castle under her feet, to feel the sharp burst of cloud-covered sunlight on her face. It took the other part of that same heartbeat to draw her arrow farther back, and to let it loose while she screamed in the face of the man in front of her. She didn’t scream words, just noise. Anything to get his voice out of her ears.

At such close range, her arrow had to find its mark, and it pierced the man through the throat. Ella screamed again, this time just because she felt like screaming.

The man started to crumple, but before he could die, he shifted. His limbs got longer and sprawled out before the demon’s legs flipped over its shoulders, its spine bent at grotesque angles, and it started to screech at her.

Or it tried to screech, but the arrow through its throat turned the noise into a shrill gurgle.

Ella screamed back at it, and knocked another arrow.

By the time the Chargers reached her, she’d peppered it through with every arrow in her quiver and was beating it senseless with her bow. She’d nearly broken the wood, but she’d find another bow back in Haven. Maybe she’d trade Harritt something for it. He had eyes for one of the elven refugees who’d joined the Inquisition, so maybe she’d offer to teach him some elven phrases.

Her bow did snap in half just about the moment Krem reached her spot on the stairs. He wasted no time and dropped his maul onto Envy’s head, finishing the job Ella had started with her bow. Skinner flew at it with her knives, relieving Envy of several of its limbs, while Grim took an axe to it. By the time Rocky, Stitches, and Dalish caught up to them, there was nothing much left to do except for Dalish to light it on fire.

“I’m not a mage,” she said as the demon’s body crackled merrily in the flames. “It was a flaming arrow.”

Ella nodded slowly and glanced at the others to see how she was supposed to react. When their only reaction was Rocky connecting explosives and mentally gauging how far the blast would go when he threw them at the corpse, Ella started to laugh.

She laughed so hard tears started streaming down her face, and she wasn’t sure at what point it turned into full sobbing, but she was aware of sinking to the ground and crying in front of the demon’s body.

Krem crouched down next to her and Ella hiccoughed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“Elves don’t trust a foundling,” she said. “We’ll accept them if they’re mages, but not if they’re standard. I’m not a mage.”

Krem nodded in understanding.

“Especially not foundlings who aren’t mages who only do well with halla,” Ella continued. “Who can’t hunt and can’t make friends. No one talked to me in my clan.”

She wiped her eyes and stared at the dancing flames on the demon.

“No, Mahanon talked to me,” she said. “He was good at keeping me out of trouble, and he said he loved me, but he didn’t. Not at all. I don’t even know if he liked me, but he was a good liar.”

“Did you love him?” Krem asked.

Ella shook her head. “But he was all I had.”

When it was clear she’d stopped crying, Krem pulled her to her feet and Stitches checked her for injuries before passing her over to Dalish, who dusted the ashes from the demon off her.

“We have to get back to Haven,” Krem said in his authoritative voice.

“The demon said it was going to lead the Elder One’s templars there,” Ella supplied.

“And we found marching orders for the entire templar order,” Dalish added.

“ _ And _ we found the commands they got to start taking red lyrium instead of normal blue lyrium,” Stitches said.

“That seems bad,” Rocky said. “Just gonna put that out there.”

The others nodded in agreement and they started to make their way out of the castle. As they picked their way past corpses, Krem instructed them all to be on the lookout for a spare bow, “since Ellana snapped hers on the bastard’s head.”

At the sound of her own name, the name given to her by Keeper Istimaethoriel when Clan Lavellan found her, Ella shuddered. She couldn’t help but hear it in Envy’s voice.

“It’s just Ella,” she said. “Just Ella.”

“Of course,” Krem acknowledged.

“Maybe I can just borrow Dalish’s bow sometimes,” Ella suggested with no inflection in her voice aside from cheer.

It took a beat, but then the Chargers burst out laughing, and Ella grinned.

“But in all seriousness,” Krem said. “They have to have left some bows behind when they marched--”

Ella understood the same moment Krem did.

“The churned up road we passed,” she said. “The Elder One’s templars are already marching on Haven.”

* * *

* * *

 

Of all the ways Max had considered he might die, the actual act of closing the Breach had never been one of them. He’d never really sat down and considered, “Oh hey, when I get a bunch of mages to pour magic into this thing in my hand, it might cause the thing in my hand to split open and tear apart my entire body in the process!” Except now Solas was sitting in front of him telling him exactly that in a mostly clinical, academic voice that was just lightly dusted with sympathy.

“And, erm, how do I keep it from tearing me apart?” Max asked.

“I believe through force of will,” Solas said. “Your mark will act as the funnel for all our magic, and direct it towards the Breach. As long as you manage to focus the energy at the Breach, I believe you will be…fine.”

“Thanks, for your reassurance, Solas,” Max muttered, looking down at the mark on his hand. On the list of things they didn’t know – why the Elder One had killed the Divine, who the Elder One was because Alexius hadn’t started talking yet – the one that was bothering him the most was that they didn’t know where his mark had come from, or what it was meant to do, just that it closed the rifts. But he stared down at the green magic that swirled inside his palm and took a deep breath. If it really was a blessing from Andraste, then surely she wouldn’t let him die closing the Breach.

“Well,” he said, and he stood. The war council and Solas stared at him, waiting for his reaction. “No time like the present.”

“We march at first light,” Cullen said. “Thank you, Solas.”

Solas inclined his head and left their war room, leaving Max with the three.

“Are you alright, Herald?” Cullen asked.

“I’m perfect,” Max replied, before turning all his attention to the war table. “Your lady ambassadorialness, how are Blackwall’s Grey Warden treaties working for us in Orlais?”

“We have had much support pour in, my lord Herald,” Josephine said. Max wasn’t sure if she didn’t notice the increasing ridiculous extravagance of the titles he gave her, or if she was just insistent in calling him “my lord Herald”. He’d have to change tact. “We have had messages of support, as well as an influx of gold, which has gone to helping Harritt create better weapons for our troops.”

“Great,” Max said. “Leliana, any news about the chalk markings?”

“Not yet,” she replied. “My agents are setting up a fake camp to determine whether they can lure the mark-maker there for observation.”

Max nodded. “Cullen, how’d it go with the nobleman?”

Cullen flushed and rubbed the back of his neck, but handed Max a rolled up missive.

_ Commander Cullen,  _ it read in an angry sort of penmanship that suggested the Bann had written it himself.  _ Am I to understand you are in charge of the soldiers trampling on my lawns, providing food and refuge to the scrabble of filth burrowing into my land? A plague on you, ser, for spitting in the face of an honest petitioner, for taking advantage of my distress! _

_ Did my wretched neighbour, Bann Traft, whisper in your ear? Tell me what he paid you so that I may at least know the price of treachery, ser! My only consolation is that a few of the rank and file have gone to join your farce of an Inquisition! _

_ In bitterest disgust, _

_ Lord Kildarn _

Max suppressed a laugh and rolled the missive back up before returning it to Cullen.

“So, it went pretty well,” Max summarised.

“I thought so,” Cullen agreed.

“You two are going to give me a headache,” Josephine complained, which was the first time Max had heard her make an outright complaint.

Leliana snorted, which was possibly the most undignified thing Max had heard from her. Almost like they were letting their guard down around him. Possibly because they all knew he might die come first light.

“On the bright side, you won’t have to deal with me very much longer,” he said.

“I don’t know,” Leliana said. “I believe Solas may be right and you will probably survive closing the Breach.”

“That’s not what I – it’s just once the Breach is closed, you’re not going to need my mark anymore,” Max said. He hadn’t thought about it until he said it, but now he was forced to confront the idea. If they didn’t need him anymore, hopefully they’d let him stay in the Inquisition. Hopefully Evie would want to stay in the Inquisition. He couldn’t imagine going back to Ostwick, and he actually couldn’t go if he had Evie with him. Bann Isaac Trevelyan would kill him, and then desecrate his grave for the inconvenience Max’s death caused, since it would mean Isaac would need to find a new assassin.

“I’m pretty sure it would take a miracle for closing the Breach to shut every single fade rift across Thedas,” Cullen said. “We’ll still rely on you for that.”

“And having the Herald of Andraste working so closely with the leadership of the Inquisition? It only helps,” Josephine said.

“You’ll be staying in the war room whether you want to or not,” Leliana finished, and Max had to work very hard to suppress a smile.

“Of course, that’ll only work assuming I don’t die tomorrow morning,” Max said. “Which, let’s assume I won’t, but in case I do, I’d like to spend the afternoon with my sister.”

“Of course, your worship,” Josephine said.

Max nodded at the three of them and started to leave, but paused at the door.

“Have we heard from the Chargers or Ella yet?” he asked.

“With the distance they’re going, we expect them back in three days’ time,” Leliana said. “I should expect their reports any hour assuming nothing’s gone wrong. I will let you know.”

Max thanked her, and headed out to find Evie.

She was in the tavern with Dorian, Varric, Sera, and the Iron Bull playing wicked grace when he found her, and he was promptly dragged into the seat between her and Dorian. Varric dealt him into the hand of cards, and Max smiled. He listened while Varric, Bull, and Sera made a series of increasingly unlikely and strange bets against each other that had nothing to do with cards, with Dorian and Evie piping up occasionally. He laughed at Sera’s creative swearing when she got handed the Angel of Death, and happily bought a round of drinks when it was his turn. If it was going to be his last day, he figured, at least he’d managed to reach a point where he actually had people he wanted to spend it with.

“I’ve got the next round,” he said, a little while later while he extricated himself from the bench and fought his way up to the bar.

“You got the last round!” Evie called after him.

“I’ve got it,” he heard Dorian say, and then Dorian was squished up next to him at the bar while they waited for Flissa’s attention.

“You seem melancholy,” Dorian said, quietly enough that they wouldn’t be overheard unless someone was paying a lot of attention.

Max glanced at him and had to resist the urge to be overwhelmed by Dorian’s face. He might die tomorrow, how difficult would it be to tell Dorian that and then take advantage of the outcome?

But that was just it, wasn’t it? That would be taking advantage, and being manipulative, and Max didn’t want to be that way. It was something Isaac would do.

“Oh, you know,” he said instead, lightly and with a grin that was only a little forced. “Just disappointed in myself for waiting to learn what friendship is until I turned twenty-six.”

Dorian laughed, but it wasn’t a cheery, robust sort of laughter.

“Try thirty,” he replied. “Or twenty-nine, I suppose. I only turned thirty two weeks ago.”

Max gaped at him. “ _ You  _ haven’t had friends?”

“One doesn’t make  _ friends  _ in the Imperium,” Dorian said, finally flagging Flissa down and ordering another round for their table. “One makes allies and enemies, and if one is supremely lucky, one’s allies actually care about them. Well, I suppose I had Felix, sometimes.”

There was a kindness to the way Dorian said Felix’s name that made Max’s stomach hurt.

“Were you and he…” he asked.

Dorian’s brows shot towards his hair. “Me and Felix? What a thing to suggest. No, Maxwell, I did not abuse my mentor’s hospitality by seducing his son.”

Max swore internally and tried to come up with the best way to remove his foot from his mouth. In the end, he came up with possibly the worst solution he could.

“I mean, I just skipped the middle man and went straight to seducing my mentor himself,” Max said.

“Marcher banns send their sons to mentors?” Dorian asked curiously.

“Marcher banns send their fifteen years younger half-brothers to mentors,” Max corrected. “To try and wipe out a life-debt to the Antivan Crows that their father incurred.”

Dorian blinked at him and then collected the steins Flissa placed on the bar for them.

“How did your father incur a life-debt to the Antivan Crows?” he asked.

Max opened his mouth to respond, and then realised he hadn’t told Evie yet, and that it would probably be the civil thing to do.

“I’ll, erm, I’ll tell you once I’ve told Evie,” he said.

Dorian’s brows didn’t lower while they returned to the table, and he didn’t comment while they sat. It was a narrow bench, not really meant for three fully grown humans to sit on it at once, and Max’s thigh burned where it was pressed against Dorian’s from necessity.

“Everything alright, boys?” Evie asked.

“Yeah, I just need to tell you something about our mum when we leave for the night,” Max said quietly.

Any question Evie might have raised at that point was broken by Varric’s face lighting up in an unreasonably evil grin.

“Curly!” he shouted, and then waved a beckoning hand towards the door.

Looking very much like he’d rather be anywhere else, Cullen approached their table. Max felt Evie’s spine stiffen.

“I was looking for Rylen,” Cullen said.

“He’s not here, sit down,” Varric commanded, and Bull leaned over to steal a stool from the next table and smack it down at the head of theirs.

“Erm,” Cullen said. “Why?”

“We’re playing cards. It’s good for morale,” Varric said. “Sit.”

Cullen sat, but continued to look nervous.

“What’s wrong, Commander?” Evie asked. “Scared you’ll lose all your money?”

Her voice was low and sweet and might have been generally taunting, if it hadn’t been for the sharp edge of a burn, like when you left your hand over a candle flame for just a little too long.

Cullen clearly picked up on it as well, because he collected his cards from Varric and made fierce enough eye-contact with Evie that it bordered on uncomfortable for the people around them.

“To you, Lady Trevelyan?” Cullen asked. “I thought Wicked Grace was a game of strategy and luck, not of lighting things on fire and beating them with sticks. Are you sure it’s your area of expertise?”

“Ten sovereigns and the left sock off every chantry cleric who joins the Inquisition,” Sera said, nodding at Varric and the Iron Bull. Max got the sense she wasn’t talking about cards.

“Nah, not a chance in hell,” Bull replied. “And I bet ten sovereigns and the right socks.”

“I’m not brokering this,” Varric interjected from between them.

“Why not?” Bull asked.

“I’m not giving Sera odds on the inevitable and I’m not letting you make a bet against it,” Varric said. “Although, frankly, with your long odds there, the returns would be phenomenal…yeah fine. Ten sovereigns and either the right or left socks of the chantry.”

“I’ve missed something,” Max said.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Giggles,” Varric recommended. “And we can discuss the terms later.”

“Still running a criminal underground, Varric?” Cullen asked, and Max remembered that they must have known each other in Kirkwall.

“Of course not, Curly,” Varric said. “Everything is strictly above ground now.”

Cullen snorted and Dorian started the bidding.

In the end, both Cullen and Evie lost, and at roughly the same time, so they weren’t any more likely to tear each other’s throats out over the table. Max considered that a blessing, even when Sera won and started hoarding the gold like a small, particularly quarrelsome dragon. Varric volunteered to stay behind and cover the remaining tab, as long as Max or Dorian would steer Evie away from the fist fight she was trying to start with Cullen. It took both of them wrapping arms around her shoulders and pinning her arms to her sides to frog march her out of the tavern and towards her cabin while she exhaled smoke every time she breathed.

“You really hate him that much?” Max asked, leaning on the edge of the small table she had while Fenlen scampered around his boots and paused to sniff the leather. Dorian, alternately, sat contentedly on Ella’s empty bed.

“No, of course not,” Evie said, sitting on the edge of her own bed and kicking off her boots with bad grace. “I just want to beat him with a stick again.”

Max nodded, pretending this made sense as a motivation, and then frowned. “Wait, ‘again’?”

Evie grimaced and leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. As soon as she stopped fidgeting, Fenlen pulled himself onto her bed and sprawled across her lap.

“What did you have to tell me about Mum?” Evie asked. “I’m sure that’s way more important than anything Commander Rutherford has ever done.”

Max sighed, and felt his shoulders deflate.

“She, erm, she didn’t die of an illness,” Max said. Internally, he wondered if he’d be telling Evie any of this if there wasn’t a non-zero chance he’d die the next day.

“Okay…” Evie prompted, glancing at Dorian. Max decided he could live with Dorian knowing, or die with it, whichever came first.

“And she wasn’t just Antivan,” Max continued. While Evie stared at him, he gave up and sat on the floor. “She was an apostate, and an Antivan Crow, and when our father found out she was an apostate, he tried to send her to the Circle but something went wrong and…”

“And when your father killed an Antivan Crow, your family owed a life-debt to their organisation,” Dorian finished. Max nodded and couldn’t bring himself to look at Evie.

“Mum was an apostate?” she asked. Max wondered if she was imagining a different world, where their mother had been the one to win that fight twenty-three years ago, where Evie hadn’t been sent to the Circle five years later, where their apostate mother taught her magic instead. Max had long since figured that that particular change of event wouldn’t have kept him from being what he was, but for Evie…at least, it was how he’d always analysed it since he found out.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Max said. “Isaac was in the habit of reading my letters.”

Evie didn’t say anything, and when he glanced at her, she was staring at a spot on the floor without seeing it.

“I just thought you should know, in--”  _ In case I die tomorrow.  _ “I just…thought you should know.”

He wondered if that was something he should tell Leliana as well. But their mother’s identity had been buried under so many layers of obfuscation and bullshit that he didn’t think there was a big chance of anyone outside the immediate family ever finding out, let alone gossiping about it to someone who could hurt the Inquisition’s reputation.

Unless the immediate family wanted to hurt the Inquisition’s reputation.

He should tell Leliana.

“I’d like to think about all that alone for a bit, if you both don’t mind,” Evie said finally.

“Of course,” Max said, jumping to his feet and pausing only to kiss the top of her head before leaving. Dorian followed him out. It was nearing the end of Firstfall and the snow in Haven had started in earnest. Satinalia was coming up soon, so Max couldn’t really be too upset about his breath hanging in the air in clouds while they walked slowly through the village.

“In case you die, right?” Dorian asked quietly.

“Sorry?” Max replied, trying to inject brightness and cheeriness that he didn’t feel into his voice.

“That’s why you told Evie about your mother,” Dorian said. “In case you die.”

When Max didn’t answer, Dorian sighed.

“I’m not a fool, Max, I overheard Solas talking about the possibility,” he said. “And for my part, I would greatly prefer if you survived.”

It was, at best, an admission of friendship, but Max would take it. He’d be happy enough dying having known all the people in the Inquisition, getting to see Evie again and fight by her side. It would be enough.

“What are you going to do once the Breach is closed?” Max asked. He realised they’d stopped walking and were now simply standing together in the middle of the path. “Are you going to go back to Tevinter?”

“No, I think I’ll see what your Inquisition cooks up next,” Dorian said. “At least for a little while.”

“Good,” Max said without thinking.

“Good?” Dorian repeated, his mouth curling into the beginning of a smirk. “You’d like it if I stayed, then?”

“I need you to stay around,” Max said, and at Dorian’s lifted eyebrows, he started babbling. “It’s no good for the Herald of Andraste to be the best-looking man in the Inquisition. Someone has to stay around to knock me down a peg.”

“In that case, I am happy to oblige,” Dorian said. His eyes crinkled with amusement. “Goodnight, Herald.”

Dorian had taken a step away before Max’s panic set in, and two steps before Max grabbed his hand and spun him back around. Max only took a moment to consider how easy it would be to use that momentum to pull Dorian towards him, to cup his face and kiss him, and then shook the feeling off.

“In case – in case I do--” He struggled for a moment for the tactful way to phrase it. “If things go wrong tomorrow, will you look out for Evie? At least for a while?”

Dorian stared at him, eyes sad, and then nodded. “While I am fully confident in your sister’s ability to take care of herself, I would be honoured to provide moral support to one of my dearest friends in the event of your passing.”

“Thank you,” Max said. He only realised he was still holding Dorian’s hand when Dorian squeezed it gently, and then let go, before turning and heading back to his cabin.

* * *

 

In the end, it was anticlimactic.

Max drew on the focus he used to close fade rifts, and the Inquisition’s mages poured magic through him into the mark, that he blasted upwards into the Breach. And…it closed. Demons stopped pouring through to attack the people of Thedas, and even though it left a scar in the sky, Max didn’t die. He couldn’t really feel his left shoulder for the rest of the day while Josephine pulled a party together, but he didn’t need to since Bull offered to give him a shoulder massage, and he didn’t think anyone would be able to feel their shoulder after that.

And that was it. The Inquisition had fulfilled their major priority. It was, Max decided, mostly over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only one chapter left in Part I!


	10. In Your Heart Shall Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so late! I have a term paper due next week that I spent all weekend working on when I wasn't in a sims depression so my apologies!

Ella didn’t know if she should be concerned or relieved that they didn’t pass the templars on their ride back to Haven. They didn’t follow their tracks, choosing instead to take the shorter, more rugged route, which wouldn’t have been possible for a large force to take. But they didn’t know when the templars had left Therinfal Redoubt, and they didn’t know when their messenger bird would reach Haven, and they didn’t know –

They were still hours out from the little village where the Inquisition made its home when something that looked and sounded like a thunderstorm started in the sky.

“We’ll have to take shelter,” Stitches said, reining in his horse and starting to slow.

Ella looked up.

“No, I don’t think that’s true,” she said. Wordlessly, she pointed.

As one, the Chargers looked towards the sky. What had been easily mistaken for thunder and lightning was actually green light, magic, crackling through the clouds. The boom that reverberated through the entirety of Ferelden and Orlais was the Breach snapping shut. Regardless of whether or not the templars had reached Haven, the Breach was…gone.

“By the stone.” Rocky whistled lowly and kept staring up at the sky.

“We should keep riding,” Krem said. “Come on.”

Although they all paused every few minutes to look up and make sure the Breach was still closed, they did as they were told and kept heading towards Haven. They had valuable information to pass along.

* * *

* * *

 

Max surveyed the party with a small smile on his face. They’d done it. The first part, at least. They still had to find the Elder One – figure out who the Elder One was and what he wanted – and deal with the fact the Divine had been murdered, and mediate the mage/templar war in a more sincere way than just absconding with the mages to help them close the Breach, but they at least didn’t have to worry about the Breach anymore.

“You should be celebrating,” Cassandra said from beside him. “It was a great victory today.”

“Thanks,” Max said. “It was definitely a group effort.”

“You do not give yourself enough credit,” Cassandra said. “There would not have been a group to share credit between if it had not been for you. Leliana, Cullen, Josephine, and I would never have come to an agreement about whether we ought to approach the mages or the templars.”

“Well, I’m glad I could help,” Max said.

“You did much more than help,” Cassandra said.

Max opened his mouth to argue again, but she glared at him in the particularly intimidating way she sometimes glared at Varric. It was the only thing Max had ever known to cause Varric to quail.

“I – thank you, Cassandra,” he said instead.

“You should go celebrate,” she said. “You have your sister, and your friends that would love to applaud you.”

Max scanned the crowd and could pick them all out – Evie weaving past people to get to the drinks table, Sera trying to convince the Iron Bull to dance while Varric and Blackwall laughed at them, Cullen standing firm with his arms crossed while Josephine and Leliana surrounded him and needled him about something that was making them laugh and him maintain a strict impassive expression. Even Solas and Vivienne had come to the party and were talking – Solas to Fiona, and Vivienne to Enchanter Ellendra. And Dorian, of course, who was leaning against one of the pile fences with a cup in hand, looking charmed by the setting and enthusiasm of those around him. Max didn’t mean to stare, but at the same time he couldn’t help but think – he wasn’t going to die tomorrow. The Breach was closed. The timebomb he’d had on his hand since he went to the Conclave was no longer good for anything aside from the fade rifts they’d pass. He could go talk to the distractingly pretty Tevinter mage, he could flirt, maybe even kiss him.

And so he thanked Cassandra, and hopped off the shallow wall to go enjoy the party.

* * *

* * *

 

Dorian smiled while he watched Evie dance around the fire. The flames burned brighter every time they got near her, and her long, unbound hair moved like actual tendrils of fire itself. When she’d spun enough that she must have been dizzy, she stopped and lifted her hands. The bonfire stood at attention, and then under her orchestration, a phoenix rose from it and circled around the dancers, who were excited enough by closing the Breach that they didn’t mind the overt display of magic.

“I feel like I’m supposed to get bonus points.”

Dorian looked away from Evie’s pyrotechnic display to find Max leaning against the wall beside him. The firelight played off his remarkable bone structure in such a way that it made Dorian wish he were a painter, not a magi academic. Maybe with paint, or with poetry, he could capture the effects of fire on Max’s golden skin and copper hair and veridian eyes. With paint or poetry, he could figure out why all the best words to describe Max – and Evie – were valuable materials.

“What for?” Dorian asked, not letting his eyes rake over Max’s form in any way that might be considered suggestive.

“Surviving,” Max said. “You did say something about preferring that to be the outcome.”

Dorian smiled. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

Max grinned and Dorian wanted.

“I think you lose those points though,” he said.

“Oh?” Max asked, sounding almost hurt.

“A little birdy told me you have a stash of brandy in your cabin, and you haven’t shared it,” Dorian said, and wondered again what Varric’s intention had been in telling him this. He doubted it was entirely innocent, but he also didn’t think it was malicious.

“I’ve also been told I’m not meant to negotiate with angry Tevinters,” Max said.

“Who says I was angry?” Dorian asked. He clapped a hand on Max’s shoulder and did not let himself think too long about the firmness of the muscle below his palm. Instead he steered Max away from the fire and towards his brandy-filled cabin. “And who said this was a negotiation?”

“Just a demand then?” Max replied with a grin

“A humble request to share one of my favourite drinks with one of the Inquisition’s most interesting people.”

He was relieved when Max kept grinning and opened the door to his cabin. It was Antivan brandy, Dorian discovered when Max pulled the bottle out of a dark corner and set it on the desk before searching around for cups. The door creaked shut.

“I know I’ve got some cups in here somewhere,” Max said. “There have to be. Someone actually lived here before the Conclave and I might happily drink out of the bottle, but that’s not how civilised people do it.”

“Ah, but that presupposes the idea there were civilised people in Haven,” Dorian said, leaning against the doorjamb. Whoever had decorated Max’s cabin had done their best with limited resources, and Max had clearly done his best to ruin all their effort. His desk was a disaster of reports and poorly sorted missives, and a chest overflowed with garments Dorian had become familiar with in the two months he’d known Max. Spare knives were spread across the mantel, but Max’s wickedly sharp obsidian blade was still strapped to his side. Dorian wasn’t surprised; he didn’t think he’d ever been more battle prepared in his life than he had since coming south. Max saw substantially more of the fighting than Dorian did, too.

The last place Dorian looked in Max’s cabin was the bed. It was certainly big enough for two people, and Max had made it very poorly when he got up that morning. It was even close enough to the fire that it would be comfortable and warm despite Haven’s altitude and the lateness of the season. It seemed like a lovely place to…sleep.

“Ha!”

Max’s searching provided something that might have been a potion bottle at some point, and a small goblet. He poured a healthy measure of brandy into both vessels and then insisted on taking the potentially suspect bottle for himself.

“Your chivalry is unbounded,” Dorian said, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“I mean, I figure it’s brandy so it’ll kill anything that’s in there,” Max said with a shrug. He clicked his flask against Dorian’s goblet and took a sip. Dorian mirrored him and wondered how people went about this. He was not a stranger to sex, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he was new to friendship and didn’t really know how one was meant to bridge that gap.

“Thank you for sharing,” Dorian said, taking his own drink.

“You’re welcome,” Max said. He was standing too close for polite conversation between friends. And his eyes hadn’t left Dorian’s in what felt like an age. “My request still stands, by the way.”

“Which one?” Dorian asked. “I’m sure you looked at me at some point with your bewitching eyes and I promised you the moon or something similar.”

Max was already slightly too close, but now he took another step forward. Dorian took another sip of his brandy.

“Taking care of Evie,” Max clarified. “If…”

Dorian lowered his goblet and took the next step towards Max. Max’s eyes finally flicked from Dorian’s down to his lips and back up. Dorian’s blood felt electric and his pulse leapt in his throat. He could see Max’s doing the same.

“I think,” Dorian said. He reached forward and brushed his fingers across Max’s quickened pulse and found the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. Max’s lips parted, whether in protest or anticipation, Dorian couldn’t be sure. “That maybe you’re out of the woods.”

Max grinned, and his eyes fell closed, while they both leaned forward. Dorian could feel Max’s breath, scented faintly with Antivan brandy, on his own lips. Perhaps it wasn’t as difficult as Dorian made it out to be, the shift from friends to lovers. Perhaps it could almost be easy, rather like lighting oneself on fire – as soon as one worked up the courage to drop the match, there was nothing to it.

But before the match could fall, before Dorian could do more than breathe in, the alarm bells started to ring.

* * *

* * *

 

Evie had never really been to anything that might be called a party before. They’d had celebrations in the Circle, but never frivolous dancing around a bonfire while everyone cheered in light-hearted joy. The only thing that would have made the evening better was if she knew where Max or Dorian were, and if Ella was back from investigating Therinfal Redoubt. She got at least one of her wishes moments later when Ella and the Bull’s Chargers barrelled through the front gates.

“Ella!” Evie exclaimed, grabbing her in a hug. To her surprise, Ella squeezed back very tightly. “We closed the Breach! Did you see?”

“I did!” Ella replied, although her voice was muffled by Evie’s shoulder. Commander Rutherford could give Evie all the shit he wanted to about her being tiny, but Ella was substantially smaller than she was.

“How was Therinfal?” Evie asked, glancing over Ella’s head to notice the lieutenant of the Chargers talking in quick, harsh tones to Bull. None of which looked good. “Did something happen?”

“I was briefly possessed by an envy demon who told me I’d never have friends and then I beat it to death with my bow,” Ella said, as though this were casual and normal. “I need a new bow, actually.”

“An envy demon?” Evie asked, wondering if she sounded as horrified as she felt. “Are you okay?”

Ella shrugged. “It just reminded me that my clan didn’t want me.”

Evie gaped at her and then forced her back into a hug, and could feel Ella smile.

“Well then they’re stupid, and also you’re part of our clan now because they didn’t want me or Max either,” Evie said, only a little aware that she was babbling. It would be more understandable if she’d actually drunk anything, but she was simply floating on the success of closing the Breach.

“Is Fenlen in the cabin?” Ella asked, finally extricating herself from Evie’s grasp.

When Evie nodded, Ella darted off and returned moments later with him in his carrying sling.

“Is…everything okay?” Evie asked.

Ella forced a smile. “No,” she said decisively.

Evie’s good mood dimmed and she turned to see Bull and Krem approaching them. Bull had his arms crossed and looked concerned where he peered down at Ella.

“Krem told me what happened at Therinfal,” he said in his booming voice. “Have you made a report yet?”

“No,” Ella said. “We should go.”

Krem nodded, and the two of them ran off towards Leliana, Josephine, and the commander. Evie glanced at Bull in confusion, and then followed. She reached them in time to hear Krem telling the council they didn’t know how many people were in the force, just that they had reason to believe it was descending on Haven.

“We will work on fortifying the village as soon as possible,” Josephine assured him. Evie frowned at her and glanced around the village. She wasn’t an expert at fortifications, not by any means, but she had studied them. Short of building a citadel bigger than the chantry, and somehow managing to quarry enough stone to pull that off, Haven was quite possibly the least defensible place she’d ever set foot.

“Fortifying Haven?” the commander asked, and to Evie’s dismay, her own doubts were echoed in his tone. “This isn’t the sort of place that’s meant to be fortified.”

“We have mages, don’t we?” Josephine asked. “Couldn’t they put up wards or…”

“At best we can block some projectiles and magical attacks,” Evie said, alerting the council to her presence. She hadn’t realised she’d been standing in Bull’s shadow. “But those barriers are useless against, you know, swords.”

The commander nodded to her in deference, almost as if he’d been about to say something similar. Evie didn’t care for that.

“Well then what would you have us do, Commander?” Josephine asked. “Leave Haven?”

“If there’s an army of templars coming to try and remove us from the map?” the commander asked, and Evie picked up the last piece of the puzzle she had been missing. Templars. Descending on Haven. “Would I have us run and fight another day? Let me think.”

Josephine bristled.

“There’s something else,” Ella said, shifting her weight from foot to foot and petting Fenlen’s ears. Evie was impressed. She’d been riding for days, very quickly it seemed, and was still restless. “When we were at Therinfal Redoubt, the red lyrium Varric’s always worried about was everywhere.”

“What do you mean, everywhere?” Leliana asked.

“It was growing out of corpses, ma’am,” Krem said. “And the walls. We found a directive stating the templars had been instructed to take that instead of the standard lyrium.”

Evie couldn’t help but glance at the commander. He had gone pale and was gripping his arms so tightly she imagined his knuckles were white under his gloves. She had only known Garrett Hawke and Anders for a brief period of time, over a year ago now, when she helped them get away from Kirkwall. But she’d read Varric’s  _ Tale of the Champion  _ and she’d heard Hawke’s story about Knight-Commander Meredith and the statue she’d become. The commander, on the other hand, had lived through it.

“They were to  _ take  _ the red lyrium?” the commander asked.

“What would that even do to someone?” Evie asked. She had to accept as she asked that the commander was the best person to answer, since of the group talking, they were the two with an abundance of experience with lyrium, templars, and mages.

“I don’t know,” the commander said, clearly still aghast. “Knight-Commander Meredith had a sword with the red lyrium  _ in  _ it and it turned her into a raving lunatic and then a statue.”

Hearing him describe Meredith as a lunatic did make Evie feel just slightly better about him as a person.

“But to actually take draughts of it?” the commander continued.

“It turned some of their skeletons red,” Ella supplied.

“Well this is all horrifying,” Bull said. “Let me know if you want help looking at the maps to find a place to run to, Curly.”

The commander broke from his dismay over the lyrium long enough to give Bull a put-out look. “Is everyone going to call me that?”

“I’ll happily go back to calling you ‘templar’ if it makes you feel better,” Evie offered.

The commander sighed, exasperated, and finally uncrossed his arms. “I’ll be in the war room with the maps if anyone needs me. Leliana, at some point I’d value your input.”

“Of course,” Leliana replied. 

The commander started to leave, but before he’d gone very far, a bell tolled.

It was immediately followed by another, then another, and then a scout running up to their group, out of breath and – Evie noticed with some concern – bleeding.

“Sister Nightingale,” she gasped, trying hard to control her breathing enough to speak while keeping herself from bleeding out. Evie wasn’t very good at healing spells, but she was better than nothing, and quickly moved the scout’s hand from her side to start applying what little aid she could. 

“Report,” Leliana said, with what Evie thought was unnecessary formality.

“A force is approaching over the mountain,” the scout said, and Evie realised there wasn’t anything she could do for the woman. She was going to die, whether Evie tried to tend to her wound or not. “A large force.”

“Under what banner?” the commander asked. The scout shook her head, and started to fall over. Evie caught her.

“There wasn’t a banner,” the scout said. She drew a shaky breath and started coughing blood, flecked with red crystals. Red lyrium.

“The templars.”

Evie wasn’t sure which of them spoke first, but as they realised what was happening, their group moved as one, rushing towards the front gates.

“Where is the Herald?” Leliana asked. Evie realised she was addressing the question to her, but before she could answer, Max burst out of his cabin, followed closely by Dorian.

“What’s going on?” Max demanded.

The commander gave him the summary and had him caught up as they all reached the front gates to Haven. When a bang shook the boards, they drew weapons.

“What’s closest?” Max asked.

“We can’t tell unless you can see over the gate,” Bull replied.

“How sturdy are your horns?” Ella asked.

Bull didn’t get a chance to look more than slightly confused before Ella planted her hands on his shoulders and climbed with remarkable grace to stand first on them, and then on his horns. The only concession Bull gave to the urgency of the situation was that he didn’t move. Otherwise, he looked at the rest of them from the corner of his eye and asked, “Is there an elf standing on my head?”

“Afraid so,” Max replied.

“There’s a massive force,” Ella called down, managing to stay perfectly balanced. “I think most of them are human but I can’t be sure. There are – monsters.”

“What do you mean monsters?” Evie asked.

Ella flipped off Bull’s horns and landed perfectly in the snow. “They’re giant and red and mostly made out of crystals.”

“Great,” Max said. “Sounds fun.”

The gate rattled again, but this time it was accompanied by a voice.

“I can’t come in unless you open it!”

They exchanged looks, and Evie was glad to see they were all as disturbed as she was.

“I know that voice,” Ella mumbled, and before they could stop her, she’d bounded down to the gates and opened the small inset door. A young man in a funny hat was standing in a circle of corpses wearing templar armour. Evie would’ve called the bodies templars themselves, except that they were…wrong. Their flesh had been corrupted with veins of red lyrium, and some of them were even starting to turn to crystal entirely.

“You helped me,” Ella said, ignoring the bodies and addressing the young man. “In Therinfal.”

“My name is Cole,” he replied. “The red templars are coming. The Elder One…”

“Who are you?” Max asked.

“I want to help,” Cole said. “I helped before.”

“He did,” Ella said. “What do we do now?”

With Cole pulled inside and the gates barred again, their group could determine a plan of action. Before they could discuss it, Varric and Cassandra ran up to them, more concerned than Evie had ever seen either of them.

“They’re still coming down the pass,” the commander said. “If we can fire the trebuchets, we might be able to bury them in snow, and slow them down at least a little.”

“We’ve got to get the people out of Haven, they’ll be overrun,” Cassandra said.

“The Chargers can get everyone into the chantry,” Bull offered. “It’s the most defensible building we’ve got.”

“And we’ll get the trebuchets going,” Max said. Evie didn’t know if he meant to include her as part of the we, but she also figured he didn’t get much choice in the matter. She was going whether he wanted her to or not. “You three can figure out a plan.”

* * *

* * *

 

Overrun by red templars. Of all the way Max could’ve chosen to get himself killed, making an alliance with the rebel mages and thereby angering the templars was not one that would be particularly high on his list. Overrun by red templars, defending a trebuchet, and horribly distracted because he just wanted to be back in his cabin with Dorian, finishing closing that gap that separated them. And instead, he was being attacked by glowing templars, whose most redeeming quality was that they shattered if Dorian froze them.

Max’s obsidian knife was no use against them, since they were too hard for it to slice through, and he didn’t like fighting with just his iron blade instead. When Evie caught one of them on fire, and Cassandra bashed him with a shield and sent him sprawling back into his fellows, Max was glad to notice he’d dropped a perfectly serviceable dagger, so at least he wasn’t running around one-handed anymore.

“We’re clear, we’re firing!” the trebuchet operator called. “But the south trebuchet hasn’t done anything!”

“We’re on it!” Max called back, and together they ran along the path to the south.

“This wasn’t how I saw this evening ending,” Dorian remarked as they approached the trebuchet and he fired a bolt of electricity into the templars trying to attack it.

“No, I saw it going very differently as well,” Max agreed, smashing a miasmic flask in the centre of a group of templars and taking advantage of their disorientation. “Someone get on calibrating the trebuchet!”

“I’m on it!” Varric said, jumping onto the platform and starting to turn the crank. Evie hopped up after him and started blasting fire at everyone who attempted to get close to them.

The payload from the trebuchet sailed over the frozen river, collided with the mountainside, and sent a cascading avalanche down towards the templar army descending upon them.

“We should get back to the village,” Max said, stabbing one of the last templars at their location in the gut. “See if there’s anything else we can do to--”

The first he was aware of the dragon fire was Dorian tackling him out of the way. The red flames – red like the lyrium, like blood – burned a swathe through the centre of the trebuchet. To Max’s intense relief, Cassandra had thrown her shield up between herself, Evie, Varric, and the flames and the three of them seemed only slightly singed, rather than immolated.

“Was that a fucking dragon?” Varric shouted.

In answer, the dragon’s shadow fell across them, and without conferring they ran. They had to pause at the smithy to break in Harritt’s door, but then they were at the front gates and Cullen was beckoning them all inside. Haven burned.

“What the fuck?” Evie demanded.

“We’re assembling everyone in the chantry,” Cullen instructed. “Let’s move!”

His best intentions were damned almost as soon as he spoke them, because the dragon came back, circling lower around them and blasting fire directly at him. Max couldn’t move fast enough to push him out of the way and watched in horror as the flames started to engulf him.

The dragon moved on and Max fully expected to see the remains of their military commander, but instead he discovered a shielding wall of fire where the commander had been. This was not dragon fire in its unnatural shade of red, but a healthy orange flame that flickered out while Max watched. Cullen was in the centre, unharmed, while Evie lowered her hands.

“Thank you,” Cullen said, too visibly confused to react otherwise.

“Don’t make a thing out of it,” Evie grumbled, and then smacked him in the side with her staff to make her point. “We should get to the chantry.”

Max was relieved when none of them stopped him from kicking in doors and pulling trapped people out from under burning beams. Cullen even carried Minaeve back to the chantry for them, while they barricaded the doors behind them.

“What are we going to do?” Josephine asked.

“At this point? Just make them work for it,” Cullen replied, scraping his hand through his hair. Max glared at him and Evie smacked him in the gut with her staff again.

“There has to be something we could do,” Max said. “There’s another trebuchet in the village fortifications, isn’t there?”

“And we could bury Haven, sure,” Cullen replied. “We’d take them out, but we’d also die.”

“At least then they’d be dead too, whereas if we sit here, it’ll just be us,” Evie said.

“So what do you propose we do?” Cullen asked.

“I don’t know! You’re the commander!” Evie snapped, and Max decided it was time to intervene.

He forced himself between them, a hand on each of their shoulders, creating distance that would hopefully make it harder for one of them to kill the other.

“There’s a path.”

All three of them turned to see the boy, Cole, supporting Chancellor Roderick towards them.

“You wouldn’t know it without taking the summer pilgrimage,” the chancellor continued. “She must have shown me the way.”

Max glanced at Cullen.

“You mean there’s an escape route?” he asked.

Chancellor Roderick nodded. Hope welled in Max’s chest.

“Cullen, can you get them out?” Max asked.

“Yes,” Cullen replied without hesitation.

“The Chargers can help,” Bull said. Max hadn’t realised he was listening, but now he was standing beside them, flanked by Ella and Krem.

“And what are you going to do?” Cullen asked, turning to Max.

Max looked down at the mark on his palm. It crackled at him, even though he’d hoped it would go away when the Breach closed.

“Well we know what this Elder One is looking for at least,” he said. “He’s looking for this.”

“Max,” Evie’s voice was low in warning.

“I’ll be the distraction,” Max said. “I can turn the trebuchet on Haven, and bury it behind you. Make it harder for them to follow.”

“What about you?” Cullen asked.

Max shrugged, and tried to swallow back the dread he’d been feeling since the night before, which had come back in full force. He tried not to think about finding Evie in the chantry in Redcliffe, or about wandering through the Fallow Mire with her and Dorian and Blackwall reciting Antivan and Tevene poems, or about playing cards with everyone in the tavern, or about not quite kissing Dorian in his cabin.

“The Breach is closed,” Max said. “I’ve done what you needed me to do, haven’t I? I think Andraste’s done with me.”

“Max--”

“I’ll buy you time,” Max said. He couldn’t meet Evie’s eye. “Send a flare when you’re clear.”

Bull, Krem, and Ella responded first, each of them taking a moment to pat him on the shoulder, and then they turned and started organising people together. Ella helped Cole support Chancellor Roderick towards the front of the escape party so he could lead the way.

“Let’s get this over with then,” Varric said, brushing something off Bianca and readying another crossbow bolt.

“Varric?” Max asked.

“You’re not going to survive out there long enough to launch the damn thing if you’re alone, Giggles,” Varric said. “And I make a pretty shitty caravan guard.”

“That is…surprisingly noble of you, dwarf,” Cassandra said.

“That was…almost a compliment, Seeker,” Varric replied. “I’m guessing you’re coming with us?”

“Of course,” Cassandra said, without a shred of hesitation.

Max was filled with deeply uncomfortable déjà vu that only got worse when Dorian offered him a smile that didn’t even approach his eyes.

“I believe the Elder One has been our problem since 9:42,” he said. “It would be a shame to let you have all the fun.”

“Martyrdom isn’t what I’d call fun,” Evie said, checking her staff to make sure she hadn’t dislodged the crystal smacking Cullen with it. “Shall we?”

Max wasn’t sure he’d ever cared for a group of people more than the ones volunteering to die with him in that moment.

* * *

* * *

 

Dorian wasn’t a fan of how the evening had ended up. It had started so well, and had begun a prelude to something even better, and now here he was, fighting off templars corrupted by red lyrium while they tried to readjust a trebuchet to bury the village that had been their stronghold. The fight had even gone their  way for a while as they took turns to calibrate the trebuchet. Dorian would shock the templars, Max would stab them, and Cassandra would beat back the ones lively enough to keep up the attack.

And then the monster arrived.

Ella had described it as such, but Dorian hadn’t thought at the time it was a decent word to describe them. But it was well over ten feet tall, jagged crystals of lyrium forming its entire body. It could shoot lyrium projectiles from its hands that only just missed them, and spray an entire wall of red at them if it wanted. Dorian had no intention of dying that night, but he didn’t think it was going to give him much choice.

“What do we do against this thing?” Varric demanded.

“They’re brittle,” Max called, trying to finish adjusting the trebuchet. “Can you freeze it?”

Dorian could try, and he did try, but it would take substantially more frost than he was capable of producing by himself. He needed Evie to be anything but a pyromancer right then.

“Keep it away from the trebuchet!” Evie called, joining Dorian. He could tell she was trying to study how he formed ice, but for her to attempt an ice spell would be anathema to her very existence.

“Got it!” Varric said, getting in closer and firing bolt after bolt at it. Cassandra dodged between his attacks and battered at the monster with her shield.

“I don’t think you’re going to pull that off, dearest,” Dorian said, firing another ice spell at the monster. Evie was struggling to produce frost crystals at all, let alone enough for a spell. “You’re too warm.”

Evie stared at him for a second, and then, slowly her eyes lit up.

“Too – Dorian you’re a genius!”

He wasn’t sure what he’d done, but she made a complicated motion with her staff that swept from the monster to a point on the other side of their field of battle. A gust of hot air passed them, and the tree Evie pointed at burst into flames.

“Try it now!” Evie exclaimed.

Dorian cast the frost spell.

The monster froze solid, calcifying into a single ice crystal. Cassandra smashed it with her shield and it shattered into nothing around them.

“What did you do?” Dorian asked incredulously.

“I can’t create ice, but I can move heat!” Evie said. “I stole all its heat, and made it colder to begin with so you could freeze it more effectively!”

“You’re brilliant!” Dorian said. “Max! How’s the trebuchet?”

“It’s calibrated! We’ve just got to wait for the--”

The dragon landed between them, its tail sweeping backwards and knocking the four of them down in a pile. Evie cried out and when Dorian managed to crawl over to her, ducking the dragon’s sweeping tail, he discovered her ankle was already swelling to twice its normal size.

“Where’s Max?” Evie demanded, pressing low to the ground  as the tail skipped passed them again.

“He’s still at the trebuchet,” Cassandra said, dragging Evie away from the radius of the dragon’s tail. Dorian and Varric followed. Over the edges of the dragon’s furling and unfurling wings, Dorian saw Max. He was almost entirely obscured by the looming figure in front of him. Dorian could make out no features aside from height, decaying, decomposing skin, and red lyrium shards sticking out of joints. The dragon’s blighted tail lashed between them, preventing any of them from reaching Max.

But he turned, and he found Dorian’s eyes. There wasn’t fear in his expression, just regret.

“You promised,” he mouthed.

Dorian gaped at him, and had never been more inclined to break his word before in his entire life.

“Go!” Max shouted, loudly enough that all of them could hear. The Elder One turned, his disfigured face focusing in on the four of them. With a backwards flick of his wrist, the earth rose between them and knocked them all back.

Dorian managed to get back to his feet, but he thought he might cry.

“Evie, I’m so sorry about this,” he said, before he grabbed her around the waist and started dragging her back towards the chantry.

* * *

* * *

 

Everyone was out. There was no reason for him to delay. Everyone was gone and he was infinitely glad he had faith in Leliana and – although maybe not in the context of immediate crisis – Josephine to get the people to safety. And he was going to be buried in an avalanche as soon as Ella sent up the flare to say they were clear, which would be particularly troubling since his chosen replacement was helping the Herald.

But everyone  _ wasn’t  _ out.

The doors of the chantry burst open and Cullen held his sword at the ready, expecting more of his former brothers- and sisters-in-arms. Instead it was Cassandra, and Varric, and Dorian dragging Evelyn while she fought against him tooth and nail.

“Let me GO!” she screamed. “Dorian let me go he’ll die you have to let me go!”

“The herald?” Cullen asked Cassandra, because she was just busy barricading the doors of the chantry against templars, rather than actively restraining Evelyn, who was in the process of trying to bite through Dorian’s bracers and also light him on fire.

“He stayed behind,” Cassandra said. Her voice had gone soft in respect, but Cullen didn’t want to believe it was respect for the dead. He’d grown fond of Max Trevelyan in the two months their Inquisition had been operating. He enjoyed his conversation, and valued his input on operations and missions. Now that the Breach was closed, they didn’t technically need Max’s mark to function, but…but Cullen had been fairly sure he and Leliana and Josephine were in agreement that they should name Max their Inquisitor. But they couldn’t do that if he was…

“We should get moving,” Varric said, although his voice was constricted, and his eyes were red. Cullen had never seen Varric like that in the ten years he’d known him.

“LET. ME. GO!” Evelyn screamed, writhing in Dorian’s grasp and doing what she could to get free. Every time she put even glancing weight on her left foot she buckled in pain, but Cullen had no doubts she would burst through the doors and attempt to incinerate every templar between the chantry and Max.

“Commander, if you wouldn’t mind,” Dorian said, struggling to hold her.

Cullen wasn’t sure what he was being asked to do, but at Dorian’s prompting, he grabbed Evelyn around the waist, pinning her arms to her sides. She was burning hot to the touch, starting to overheat his armour, but he didn’t let go.

“Evie, I’m so sorry, but I promised,” Dorian said. Cullen didn’t think this was meant to be heard by anyone except maybe the Maker. He pressed his fingers to Evelyn’s temples and closed his eyes. After a quick second of concentration, Evelyn collapsed, unconscious.

“What did you do?” Cassandra asked. Cullen didn’t bother with questions, and instead changed his grip to carry Evelyn across his shoulder. It was the least he could do, after she’d saved his life earlier in the night.

“It’s an old brothel trick to deal with unwanted customers,” Dorian snapped. He took a deep breath. “Lead the way, Commander.”

They were still catching up with the tail end of the caravan out of Haven when the flare went up. Cullen didn’t know – none of them knew – if anyone was still available to launch the trebuchet.

It was the last indication they got that Max was alive, in the end. The mountain started to collapse around them, snow rushing down the mountainside in seconds, obliterating everything in its path while the caravan of what had been the Inquisition ran through the pass. Haven had been entirely buried by the time Evelyn stirred.

Cullen didn’t fight her when she demanded to be put down. And when she tried to put weight on her ankle and started to collapse into the snow, he caught her. In the snow and the darkness, when the moonlight turned everything blue, and the copper flames of her hair turned just red, and her green eyes could easily be navy, it was too easy to mistake her for a different mage, in a different war. It was too easy to confuse the aggravation he felt towards Evelyn Trevelyan with the passion he’d once had for someone very different. And it was too easy to pick her back up when her ankle wouldn’t hold her, and cradle her in his arms.

But this was not a day where the details would matter later. What would matter was whether or not they survived, and who died to save them, not how they crossed the mountains.

“How could you?” Evelyn said, and didn’t try to get out of Cullen’s hold. Her voice, however. Whatever the light was doing to him, her voice was a clear reminder that she wasn’t someone he knew well, or someone he’d once loved. She was someone who, on most given days, he didn’t even particularly like.

“I promised Max,” Dorian said. They weren’t far from the rest of the caravan now, as everyone else had stopped to see the ruins of Haven. “I promised that if anything happened to him I’d keep you safe.”

Cullen didn’t know when or how Dorian had been in a position to strike this deal with Max, but he was pretty sure the Inquisition had gotten the short shrift because of it. He almost wanted to mention it, except that Dorian looked like he might prefer to lay down in the snow and stay there until he died of frostbite, so he kept the comment to himself.

But he didn’t know how the Inquisition was supposed to go on from here. They had their executors but not their figurehead. Most of their clout had come from Max’s position as the Herald of Andraste and without him – well, it was only a matter of time before the Orlesian Empress or the King of Ferelden came for them, and that was assuming they survived their trek through the mountains.

Evelyn was silent while they worked their way through the crowds towards the front of the line. Cullen would have preferred to leave her with Dorian, but it was easier to just keep walking and carrying her than deal with depositing her somewhere.

“You would have saved Max, right?” she asked quietly, moments before they reached Josephine and Leliana. “Not me?”

“Yes,” Cullen said. “I would have.”

Evelyn nodded once, decisively. “Good.”

* * *

* * *

 

_ H – _

_ I tried to do this without you, but I think we need your help. _

_ Shit got weird. _

- _ V _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please comment and let me know what you think!


	11. Journey through the Mountains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry the update schedule has gone wonky. I realised on Wednesday that I had to rewrite my thesis proposal, and then was on campus from eleven until eight yesterday, came home, and rewrote my thesis proposal! On a topic I am not overly familiar with! It was a hoot and a holler. 
> 
> But it's done now. Now all I have is the term paper I've been avoiding. :/

#  **Part 2: Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts**

* * *

Evie had a blanket.

Someone had draped it around her shoulders and dropped her in front of one of their campfires while she waited her turn for medical attention. She’d insisted on going, if not last, very close to it, since she had a damaged ankle and some people were suffering burns and knife wounds and a lot of people were dead.

Max was…

The first she knew of someone making tea was Ella putting a cup in her hands and then squeezing under the blanket with her. Fenlen in his sling snuffled and snorted but stayed exactly where he was. Ella squished against her side, and with all three of them under the blanket, it was actually quite warm. Evie didn’t get cold, but it must have been nice for Fenlen and Ella.

Varric stood a few paces away with his arms crossed, staring into the fire, and Cassandra paced the edges of their pocket of camp. Evie didn’t know where Dorian was and for the moment she truly didn’t care.

Everyone else from the inner circle was certainly close enough by to hear the council arguing. Blackwall was Varric’s mirror, although he watched the edges of camp rather than the fire. Sera sat just far enough away from the fire that she was out of the way of Cassandra’s pacing and the commander, Josephine, and Leliana’s arguing, but still close enough to feel the heat. Evie would’ve gone and given her the blanket, but she couldn’t really walk. Solas was a few paces beyond Sera, occasionally listening to the arguments, occasionally looking out across the camp like he was searching for something. Evie half expected Vivienne to be crowing to everyone who would listen that they ought to have allied with the templars if they wanted to avoid this sort of thing -- but despite Evie’s personal dislike, she could acknowledge that while Vivienne was a lot of things, tasteless and crass were not among them. Bull circled the edges of their camp like a sentinel, occasionally giving quiet instructions to the Chargers as they came up. Ella had informed her that the Chargers had been absolutely invaluable in getting everyone out of Haven safely.

Everyone except.

“I should have left my agents in the field,” Leliana said, and Evie snapped back to their conversation. “We should have been better prepared.”

“We should have sent a party to Therinfal Redoubt sooner,” the commander countered.

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

Evie wasn’t even aware it had been her who’d spoken until the commander and Leliana turned to stare at her.

“If you’d left your agents out there, they would have died, and they wouldn’t have been able to warn us,” Evie said. She stood up and left the blanket draped over Ella. She tried to take a step forward but her ankle wouldn’t hold her and she started to fall. The commander caught her around the waist - as a reflex Evie was sure -  and set her back upright. “And if you’d sent the Chargers to Therinfal while the templars were still there, they would have died, and when the templars came we would have had no warning, and no guards to get everyone out of Haven.”

Leliana and the commander stared at her in shock and reproach until Ella collected her and helped her hop back to her seat.

“But we would still have the Herald,” Josephine said quietly.

“Max would die a hundred times to give everyone else in the Inquisition a chance,” Evie said. Nothing had ever been clearer in his letters than that pinnacle of his character: he was a noble idiot looking for the noblest cause to die for.

“Always did like a bargain,” Leliana said quietly.

Evie glared at her, but Leliana didn’t seem to notice.

“Perhaps…perhaps we can use this,” Josephine said. “Having the Herald as a symbol is almost as good as--”

“Don’t.”

Evie half expected the interruption to have come from her again, but instead it was the commander.

“Don’t do this now, Josephine,” he continued. “Don’t leverage a man’s death hours after it happened.”

“If not now, when?” Josephine demanded. “We have to be proactive! All we’ve been able to do is react, but if we can--”

“Not now,” Evie snapped.

And the council dissolved into infighting. Evie wanted to cover her ears and block it all out but she couldn’t. It wouldn’t go away no matter how much she tried to ignore them.

“Quiet!”

To everyone’s surprise, the exclamation came from Solas. Evie stared at him and then followed his gaze, south towards Haven.

“A traveller,” Solas said. “Alone.”

The commander drew his sword and was the first to run towards the pass. Ella pulled Evie’s arm across her shoulders and they hobbled towards it as well, drawing most of the camp with them. Evie didn’t know where Dorian had come from, but when he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her other arm across his shoulders to help her move faster, she didn’t argue.

“A traveller,” someone muttered, the explanation carrying back along the chain of the camp. “Just one person though.”

Just one person, the remains of the Inquisition could deal with. Just one person was a mystery, not a threat. Just one person had the potential to be a miracle.

Evie, Ella, and Dorian had reached the bottom of the hill when the commander’s voice carried back into their little valley.

“It’s him!” the commander shouted. “It’s the Herald!”

Evie saw the man at the top of the hill sink to his knees, saw a flash of familiar green, and then saw him fall forwards into the snow.

“It’s him, the Herald!”

“He’s alive?”

“Andraste sent him back to us.”

“It’s a miracle!”

The voices swirled around them, and Evie knew there were tears streaming down her face. Max was alive. Somehow, despite every odd, the Herald of Andraste had survived.

* * *

* * *

 

Max’s head hurt.

No, he’d promised himself he was going to stop waking up with headaches in unfamiliar places. His head wasn’t allowed to hurt.

Unfortunately, reasoning with it went about as well as his general negotiations.

Slowly other things filtered in – it was cold, people nearby were arguing, others were whispering quietly to each other, and there was something unnervingly close to his face and he couldn’t figure out what unless he opened his eyes.

When he did, he discovered Sera’s face hovering far too close to his, like she was watching to make sure he was breathing.

“He’s up!” she exclaimed when she noticed his open eyes, and then leapt back into the crowd surrounding his cot. The crowd was large and full of heavily armed and armoured people, all of whom were staring at him and illuminated only from behind, resulting in a set of ten ominous silhouettes.

“Maker’s balls you lot are intimidating,” he groaned.

“We’re teddy bears, Boss,” Bull said. “You’re the resurrectionist.”

Max propped himself up on his elbows and tried to adjust to the bad lighting. Slowly they came into focus. They’d arranged themselves in rows by height, which Max found uncharacteristically organised for his crew. Bull and Blackwall and Cassandra loomed in the background, while Vivienne, Dorian, and Solas peered at him from the centre of the crowd. There was too much pain in Dorian’s face for Max to linger there. Evie, Ella, and Sera made up the next row, and Max realised Ella was holding Evie upright for some reason. Varric was right in front, giving Max the most understanding concerned look Max had ever seen.

“How are you feeling, Giggles?” he asked.

“Cold,” Max said, sitting all the way up and wrapping the blanket he’d been gifted around his shoulders.

“I can--” Evie started to offer.

“What? Fall on him?” Sera asked.

“Are you alright?” Max asked.

“She broke her ankle and several bones in her foot,” Ella supplied while Evie flushed. “She fought to get back to save you though.”

“Sparkler had to knock her out and get Curly to carry her away from Haven, actually,” Varric said.

Max made himself look at Dorian and wondered if that was the source of the pain and remorse in his expression.

“Thank you,” he said, and Dorian’s expression softened just a little.

“Not that we aren’t all completely overjoyed to see you safe and well, my dear,” Vivienne started. “But…”

“How?” Cassandra asked.

Max groaned. He didn’t want to think about Corypheus or the dragon or the avalanche or the fact he could now use the mark as an anchor, the way its name suggested.

“The Elder One wanted my mark,” he said, because even if he didn’t want to think about it he still had to tell them. “He tried to take it back when he found me in Haven. He’s the one who gave me the mark, not Andraste.”

“Perhaps she did not give you the mark, but she may still have put you in its path.”

Everyone turned to look at Mother Giselle.

Max had no idea what he believed – if Andraste had really handed him out of the fade, if she’d put him in the path, if he was chosen. He’d always been at least a little Andrastian, but he couldn’t imagine the bride of the Maker choosing someone like him to represent her. What would she want from an assassin who’d lived his entire life in the shadows of his family? Or was it more likely that by coincidence, unfortunate and irrevocable coincidence, Max had wandered into some ritual a thousand years in the making, and he’d become the key to the plot?

“I don’t know if I believe that,” Max said quietly.

“Perhaps you do not need to,” Mother Giselle replied. “But it will not stop others from saying it. Everyone in the Inquisition saw their defender fall, and return from the dead. It gives them strength. It gives them hope. And it gives them faith that you will deliver us from this trial.”

“And it’s not like you’re doing it alone,” Varric said. “You’ve got all of us, Giggles.”

“Yeah,” Bull said. “You’ve just got to put a pretty face on it all.”

Max managed to laugh and stood. “I’m going to see if I can help the council figure out where we’re going.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to rest more?” Evie asked.

“No, I’m fine,” Max said. “You should get your foot fixed.”

“Herald,” Solas said, following him to the mouth of the tent. “A word.”

Max agreed, paused to hug Evie tightly, and let Solas lead him away while the others stared after them.

“News of this Corypheus and the attack on Haven will spread,” Solas said. “Your legend may grow into something you cannot control.”

“I don’t know about legend--”

Solas cut him off with a single disapproving look and then lit a torch with a backwards wave of his hand. They looked north beyond the edges of the camp, and watched the snow fall on the pines and cedars.

“I didn’t know legends got any control over their legacy,” Max tried instead. Solas’s mouth curled into something that might almost have been a smile.

“No control, I would say, but perhaps the ability to point the narrative where you will,” Solas said. “And where will you direct it?”

“I honestly don’t care as long as we stop Corypheus,” Max said.

Solas inclined his head.

They stood in silence for another minute, watching the snow and listening to the whispers of the people in the camp.

“Scout to the north,” Solas said suddenly, turning away from the wilderness and looking directly at Max. “Be their guide. There is a fortress that waits for a force to hold it. I think it will serve the Inquisition well.”

“Why don’t you scout for it, then?” Max asked.

Solas’s answering smile was almost rueful. “Mother Giselle is right. Who better to deliver us from this wilderness and chaos than the Herald of Andraste, reborn?”

Max didn’t have an answer to that.

* * *

* * *

 

“Bloody fool wanted to go dragon hunting,” Krem said, shaking his head at the memory. Ella laughed. The snow crunched under their feet as they followed Max through the mountains. Ella had got her wish, at least – she was on top of a mountain.

“Of course, he didn’t know where to  _ find  _ any dragons, and the chief shared that particular desire, so we spent weeks scouting for a dragon for this noble to fight,” Krem continued. “Eventually we found one, but as soon as he saw it, the noble pissed himself and ran away. We had to kill it ourselves, since he’d also pissed it off first. I’ve never seen the chief so happy about anything.”

“Telling stories, Krem?”

Ella and Krem both turned to see Bull coming up behind them. He was carrying what looked like several people’s supply packs on his shoulders without a single shred of difficulty.

“It’s a good way to pass the time, Chief,” Krem replied. “Besides, we’ve got to get Ella caught up on everything if she’s gonna be our official Inquisition liaison.”

Bull raised an eyebrow. “And are you? Our official Inquisition liaison?”

Ella shrugged.

“We figure if you’re running around with the Herald of Andraste, Ella can run around with us,” Krem explained.

“And does that work for you, Ella?” Bull asked. “Liaising between the Chargers and the Inquisition?”

“You’ve assembled a great team,” Ella said.

“I know,” Bull said, but he smiled at the compliment nevertheless. Ella smiled back.

“I’m sorry about standing on your horns back in Haven,” she said.

Bull shrugged. “It’s fine,” he said. “Actually I was thinking about it, and if we were in battle, I could charge at people and you could shoot at them. We’d be our own walking, talking siege tower.”

Ella tried to consider how well that might work, if her arrows actually agreed to go where she wanted them to. If that part worked out, then it might be fun.

“We’d see anything coming from miles away,” Ella said.

“I don’t know about that part,” Bull said, tapping his eyepatch. Ella had noticed the first time she’d met him that it was starting to wear out. She wondered if it would be possible to find a leatherworker to make him a new one.

“You have one eye, I have elf eyes,” Ella said.

“And you’d be up high,” Bull continued, looking more convinced by the idea.

“Exactly,” Ella said.

“See, Chief?” Krem said. “She fits right in.”

Bull nodded in something that was either understanding or acceptance. Ella wasn’t sure. But she was impressed that he didn’t seem to be cold despite the fact the only thing he wore above his waist was a harness.

“Aren’t you freezing?” she asked.

“Nah,” Bull said.

“Not at all?” Ella asked.

Bull shrugged, and mostly because she couldn’t actually believe him, Ella pressed a hand to his skin. He wasn’t giving off heat, but he also wasn’t an icicle. His skin was smooth under her palm and soft for a very limited bit until it gave way to muscle so solid it felt like stone. Ella blinked. Mahanon, the only man she’d ever really touched, had been much softer.

Ella didn’t realise she was still touching his arm until the muscle beneath her hand flexed, and she looked up to see Bull looking down at her with raised eyebrows.

“Find something you like?” he asked.

“Oh, erm--” Ella wasn’t really sure how to finish the sentence, because she did like the feel. She had the passing desire to ask if all his muscles were that firm, and the slightly more primal desire to find out through exploration. “Elves are much softer to the touch. Even our warriors.”

Ella could feel herself blushing, and she was pale enough that it covered her entire body when she did. And she could see Krem snickering at her.

“So Krem!” she said. “Where on the scale of Qunari to elf do you suppose dwarves fall?”

Krem gaped at her in utter betrayal for a moment, but the damage was done. Bull turned his attention to his lieutenant instead of the embarrassed and blushing elf, and Ella had never been more grateful.

“Dwarves, huh?” Bull asked.

“Right under the bronto’s feet,” Krem muttered, giving Ella a betrayed look. Ella tried to look innocent, since she’d just extrapolated the idea Krem was interested in a dwarf from a comment one of the others had made on their way to Therinfal. She hadn’t actually known anything until he reacted.

“I don’t know anything about dwarven muscles, Chief,” Krem said.

“Uh huh,” Bull said. “You sure about that? Not anyone special you’re wooing?”

“You’d know if I was seeing anyone, Chief,” Krem said.

“Really? No one, Lieutenant?” Scout Harding asked, walking beside them. She was carrying a stack of what looked like reports, and was clearly on her way from Leliana’s mobile raven roost to the head of their pilgrimage to find Max, but she did have impeccable timing, Ella decided. “The women of Thedas weep at their loss.”

“Scout Harding!” Krem exclaimed, nervously trying to brush his hair out of his face without seeming to realise that it wasn’t in his face to begin with. His spine straightened, and he stood taller, which Ella didn’t think was necessarily beneficial for wooing a dwarf, but she didn’t mention it. “It’s nice to see you’re still…scouting.”

Ella pressed her lips together and shook with silent laughter while Krem realised what he’d said and burned redder than Ella had moments earlier.

“Nice to see you’re still lieutenanting, Lieutenant,” Harding replied, raising an eyebrow at him.

“And you’re not cold, or anything, do you want my cloak--”

A snort-giggle managed to escape, and although Harding didn’t seem to react, Krem flushed even brighter red. Ella had to turn away and hide her face, and ended up burying it in Bull’s bicep as it was the closest surface. The only indication she had that Bull was also trying his hardest not to laugh was that his arm shook.

“I’m Fereldan, Lieutenant,” Harding said. “We’re made of pretty sturdy stuff. Northerners like yourself should keep your cloaks.”

“I heard that!” Dorian called from somewhere behind them and Ella couldn’t help the laugh that burst out.

“But thanks all the same,” Harding said, and then she hurried ahead to try and catch Max.

As soon as she was far enough away, Ella and Bull burst out into helpless laughter, so heavy that tears started running down Ella’s face.

“Smooth move, Krem,” Bull said. “Give the Fereldan dwarf your cloak.”

Krem didn’t stop blushing for at least an hour.

When they made camp for the night, Ella relayed the story to Evie, who laughed, but still seemed upset by something. Ella figured it had to be Max. Maybe Max and Dorian.

“Max was just trying to keep you safe, you know,” Ella said, combing the snarls out of the ends of Evie’s hair and redoing the braid.

“I know,” Evie said. She sighed. “But that’s all I’ve ever had my whole life. When I was a kid, we were trapped in the Trevelyan lands, and then when I was in the Circle, I had to get special permission to go into the  _ garden _ . The last thing I want is someone looking out for me to such an extent he’d make one of my friends literally drag me away from a fight.”

“Evie, that wasn’t a fight,” Ella said, because from what she’d heard from Varric and Dorian, it was so much more. “It was the Elder One – a darkspawn magister from the dawn of time – trying to kill one very specific person.”

“But that specific person was my brother!” Evie insisted.

“And if you had made it to the Conclave like you were supposed to, or I had snuck in instead of Mahanon, it could have easily been one of us,” Ella said. She wasn’t sure exactly what her point was, simply that Evie shouldn’t take it personally that the Elder One was targeting Max.

“Except Andraste didn’t pick either of us, which is why we weren’t there,” Evie grumbled.

Ella’s hands stilled on Evie’s hair.

She was fine with accepting the Maker and Andraste as gods in the humans’ pantheon, and had never had a problem with that. She would never pray to them or leave offerings for them the way she did with the elven gods, but she didn’t think the two needed to be mutually exclusive. But from what little she knew about Andrastianism, they were very against mages and magic in general.

“You…you really follow Andraste?” Ella asked. “Even though Andrastians don’t like mages?”

Evie lifted her shoulders, less like she was shrugging and more like she was tensing for battle.

“If my apostate mother could be a devout Andrastian, why can’t I?” Evie asked.

“I just didn’t expect it, that’s all,” Ella said. “And I didn’t know your mother was an apostate.”

“Neither did I,” Evie said. “Max told me right before…I don’t know what to do with it. My mother was a mage, just like me, but my father murdered her because of it, so I don’t know…I don’t know how to deal with that.”

Ella didn’t know how to deal with it either, and settled instead for hugging her.

“I don’t know anything about my parents,” she said.

“I don’t know if that’s worse,” Evie replied.

“Me neither,” Ella said. Evie snorted, and Ella smiled. The mountains might not have been a nice place, but they were good for something.

* * *

* * *

 

Dorian fully understood why Evie was mad at him. It was the same reason he was mad at himself, and furious with Max. He would, of course, be angrier with Max if Max had actually died, but as he’d survived, Dorian was trying to find a way to forgive him. There was a very specific promise he wanted to extract from the Herald of Andraste, but he didn’t know how to phrase it without giving away more of his hand than he wanted to.

All of this was exacerbated by the fact they had very limited tent space in their flight from Haven, and Dorian had ended up in the same tent as Max. If it had been just Max, progress might have been possible, but it was Max, and Blackwall, and Cullen. Cullen and Blackwall seemed fine with this arrangement, as they were both soldiers, but Max and Dorian were accustomed to significantly more personal space.

Especially since they had collectively agreed to go without cots in favour of giving them to the injured, and so it was the four of them in sleeping rolls on the ground in their tent, and Dorian now knew more about Blackwall and Cullen than he’d previously cared to. They all slept with knives under the balled up clothes they used for pillows, Blackwall and Cullen were perfectly used to sleeping with their boots on, and it took a concerted effort to stop Cullen from actually sleeping in his armour.

“But I have to be prepared, in case--” Cullen started to protest.

“Cullen, I will sit on you and strip your armour for you if you don’t do it yourself,” Max groaned, flinging an arm across his eyes.

“But if--”

“You toss in your sleep, and your armour clinks,” Dorian interrupted. “And if Max doesn’t get to you, I will, and I know more ways to strip a man bare, blindfolded and with one hand, let alone fully sighted and with both, than anyone you’ve ever met.”

Cullen also had nightmares, Dorian learned, which contributed to the tossing and turning, and Blackwall snored. He snored dreadfully to such an extent that Dorian worried for anyone he’d ever bedded. It made it nearly impossible for Dorian to sleep, even though he was as far away from them as he could get in their tent.

“Are you alright?” Max whispered on their second night of travelling. Dorian didn’t know where they were going, or how long it was going to take, but Max seemed confident, so Dorian would borrow his.

“I’m furious with you,” Dorian whispered back. There was no venom in his voice, though, and he had to hope Max could hear its absence. “Are you alright?”

Max shifted closer to him in his bedroll, the cloth making a funny hissing noise across the ground. He was close enough that Dorian could feel his body heat in the crisp mountain air, and Maker’s breath but Dorian wanted to close the distance between them.

“I’m grateful you kept your word,” Max replied, propping himself up on his elbow. There was only dim light from the fire outside, and in that light, Max looked magical. He looked like temptation given shape.

He leaned towards Dorian, but before any contact could be made, a balled up piece of fabric that smelled the way Dorian might imagine distilled essence of pestilence might smell caught Max in the head and then landed far too near Dorian’s face.

“If you two have sex with us here in the tent, I don’t care whose Herald you are, I’ll gut you myself,” Blackwall said from the opposite end of the tent.

“Andraste’s tits, Blackwall, is this your  _ sock _ ?” Max demanded, taking the offending fabric and hurling it back at the Warden.

“You’ll get worse than that if you try anything funny,” Blackwall replied.

“I take sex very seriously,” Dorian said. “Nothing funny about it. I’m more than happy to demonstrate if you--”

“I hate all of you,” Cullen interjected. “Maker’s breath.”

Dorian didn’t have anything to say to that, and neither did Blackwall or Max, and so the four of them drifted uneasily to sleep.

They didn’t talk the next day. They didn’t talk about Max almost kissing him, or the promise Dorian wanted him to make, and they didn’t mention Blackwall’s socks to anyone who could hear because they were horrifying and unmentionable. Max resumed his position as leader of their party, and for obvious reasons, Dorian avoided both Cullen and Blackwall, and since Evie wasn’t speaking to him and was walking with Ella, he found himself travelling with Varric.

“Violet’s still speaking to you, right?” Varric asked.

“Yes,” Dorian said. “Ella still talks to me.”

“And Firefly’s mad at you for saving her life in Haven,” Varric continued. “Because…”

“Because I wouldn’t let her try to save Max, as I had promised him that should anything happen to him, I would try to look in on Evie,” Dorian summarised. “And he reminded me of that promise while the Elder One was attempting to kill him.”

Varric nodded sagely and clapped Dorian on the back. “I understand that boyfriends sometimes suck in not fun ways.”

Dorian’s answering noise of dismay and frustration gave Varric pause.

“Or not even in fun ways?” Varric tried. “I’m running on second-hand information here, Sparkler. The best I’ve got is my best friend being in a relationship with a man and me knowing  _ way  _ more about it than I ever wanted to.”

“The Champion spoke to you of his – intimate relations?” Cassandra demanded from behind them, and Dorian and Varric turned. Her cheeks were pink, and Dorian assumed it wasn’t from cold.

“Look, Seeker, you get a pint or two of hard malt liquor into Garrett Hawke and he’ll tell you anything you ever wanted to avoid knowing, down to and especially emphasising upon his sex life,” Varric said. “But it’s fine. It makes writing romance novels easier.”

“Surely you can draw on your own experiences,” Dorian said. Dwarves might not have been what he typically found attractive – aside from a particularly memorable experience in Qaranis several years earlier – but he understood Varric was good looking. He felt confident in assuming that people of whatever gender Varric preferred sought him out with regularity.

“Not recent ones,” Varric said, a little wryly.

“It’s because you’re incorrigible,” Cassandra said, and Varric snorted.

“No, Seeker, usually that helps,” he said. He turned back to Dorian. “So should I avoid drinking with you if I want to never hear what the Herald looks like naked?”

“I would have to know what he looks like naked first,” Dorian replied.

“Oh, well, Rylen’s out of the betting pool,” Varric said, pulling a notebook out of his quiver and flipping through it.

“Why do you do this to me?” Dorian asked. Varric just patted him on the arm again.

“You do… _ care  _ for the Herald, don’t you?” Cassandra asked, catching up to be even with Dorian rather than behind them. “It isn’t simply lust?”

“Cassandra, I’m surprised at you,” Varric said. “Interrogating someone? On his love life? Or sex life, I guess. His whatever. Really! I’m shocked!”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise and stomped ahead.

Dorian and Varric stared after her.

“I know we’ve had this conversation before, but you really do enjoy antagonising her, don’t you?” Dorian asked.

“Given the way our lives are going, there are few simple pleasures left,” Varric said. “Antagonising the woman who had me kidnapped and then interrogated me for days straight before she dragged me to Haven? And stabbed one of my books? I’ll take it.”

Dorian snorted in what was possibly the least gentlemanly way he’d ever laughed.

He was still laughing just a little when muttering started to travel down the caravan towards them. It didn’t take long to work out what the muttering was – there was something on the next peak, a fortress, the Herald had delivered them out of this mess to somewhere safe, they’d found a stronghold – and eventually the muttered news consolidated into simply one word.

Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are still reading, please let me know. It helps in this time of travail.


	12. Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which organisational and administrative decisions are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, I am so sorry for the extended delay over the holidays and now well into the new year. My parents (of which I have more than two) all came over to Ireland for Christmas, and so I was doing things, constantly, for two weeks, at which point I became desperately ill and didn't sleep for the next two. So functioning and processing things like "perhaps I should update my fic" was low on the list of priorities. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm back now! 
> 
> And I'm sorry for the chapter...

The fortifications were surprisingly intact. There were crumbling sections of wall, and every roof needed to be replaced as soon as possible, but overall the keep was still functional and preserved. Max didn’t know how Solas had heard of the place, but he could tell as soon as he stepped foot in the grounds that it would hold the Inquisition without any trouble. They would need to make use of the land around the peak if they were going to expect an influx of people at any given moment, but that was manageable.

They needed to expect an influx, Max realised, because as soon as they reached Skyhold, Josephine started spreading word of their triumph. It was important, and he understood that. They had to present a good public face if they wanted to get the allies they would need in order to raise an army big enough to fight Corypheus.

As soon as they reached the keep, they started organising. The group that had survived Haven was small enough they could all fit within the castle walls without too much trouble, but they would have to deal with the fact there was debris all over the great hall, and there was debris in each and every of the watchtowers, and there was just…debris.

They set up the tents again, because it would be a while until they could clear all the debris out of the rooms and living quarters in the keep, and as soon as they had the injured set up somewhere decent where the healers could get to them, Max joined Cullen in figuring out who they had that would be able to assist with the repairs. They found Harritt a forge area in the undercroft of the great hall, and they found Leliana a crow’s nest in the top of a rotunda, and they found an abandoned chantry room off the garden. There was a building that would be perfect for a tavern, and one that was perfect for a smithy, and then it was just down to organising everything, and keeping everyone sorted.

Max did his best to check in with everyone. He found Vivienne a perch that overlooked the great hall, and he assisted Blackwall in finding whittling tools to bring to the stables, where he’d banished himself. The rooms above the garden Max imagined would make perfect quarters for the inner circle as soon as they got everything fixed up.

True to Josephine’s predictions, people did start arriving. In droves. Provisioning the mountain pass camp was going to be hell if Max had to guess.

“But fortunately we have you for that, right, Josie?” Max said.

“Fortunately, yes,” Josephine replied with a small smile. “There was something else we wished to speak to you about, Herald.”

“Oh?” Max asked.

“The Inquisition has been officially leaderless since it started,” Leliana said.

“What are you talking about?” Max asked, trying not to laugh. “The Inquisition’s had the three of you, and Cassandra, and, I suppose, me for a bit.”

“But we have not had an Inquisitor,” Josie said. “Walk with us.”

Max let her lead him out of the tower Cullen was using as his office, which was serving as their war room until enough structural repairs could be made to the inside of the keep. To his surprise, the castle grounds were full of people, all of them staring expectantly at the promontory that led from the courtyard to the keep. Cassandra waited at the landing, holding a sword.

“We have not had an Inquisitor,” Leliana continued, pulling him towards the landing and leaving Cullen and Josephine behind. “We decided it was time to name one.”

Distantly, like it had happened in another life, Max recalled sitting in the war room in Haven while the council informed him that he’d still be expected to show up to war council meetings, even once the Breach was shut.

“We also decided it should be the person who was already leading us,” Leliana added, depositing him in front of Cassandra.

“Will you accept the role of Inquisitor?” Cassandra asked, extending the broadsword towards him. Max stared at it, longer than he meant to, and finally, he took it. “How will you lead?”

She asked it loudly enough that her voice carried over the people assembled to watch. Max scanned their faces, picking out Evie, Dorian, Ella, Varric, Bull. He saw Flissa and Minaeve, Adan, Ellendra, Cullen and Josie. And they were all looking at him expectantly. No one had ever expected anything of him before.

“Corypheus must be stopped,” Max said. “We will get justice for the Divine and we will destroy Corypheus.”

He considered running away as soon as the crowd cheered.

“Inquisition!” Cullen’s voice managed to cut through the noise. “Will you follow? Will you fight?”

The cheers were louder this time. Max wondered if his hand was visibly shaking on the hilt of the sword.

“I give you your Herald! Your Inquisitor!” Cullen finished, and the roar of the crowd was so loud Max was a little surprised it didn’t shake apart the foundations of the platform he stood on. Max was relieved when Leliana shepherded him into the great hall and they were joined by Cullen and Josephine. The doors shut everyone else out, and fortunately, they all had to go back to trying to make Skyhold inhabitable by actual people, rather than a pack of feral cats and a few too many mice.

“Okay, you have your figurehead,” Max said once it was just the four of them. He handed the sword to Cullen. “Please have this for safe-keeping.”

“You look uncomfortable, Inquisitor,” Josephine said.

Max flinched. “Please don’t,” he said.

“What’s the problem?” Josephine asked. “It’s your title now.”

“Yeah, I just need a bit to get used to it, alright?” Max replied. “I’ve only just got used to being the Herald of Andraste.”

“I’ve always found it difficult to go from the shadows to the limelight,” Leliana said.

“We can make a club,” Max muttered. “Okay. If I’m supposed to be the Inquisitor, find me a target.”

“We’ll see what we can do,” Cullen promised. “Meet us in the war room whenever you have a moment and we’ll discuss our next plan of action.”

Max agreed, and didn’t technically  _ run  _ from the hall, but definitely did not move slowly. He found himself in the rotunda where the only noises were Leliana’s birds high above and the sound of books dropping to the floor. Max followed the second noise up to the library where he discovered Dorian tearing book after book off the shelf, peering at the title and the first page, and then dropping it on the floor.

“You would think that if people were so insistent on immediately sending books to the Inquisition, they could have at least sent us something useful!” Dorian exclaimed. “But no! Not a single book on the Ancient Imperium! In fact, the only book they have on the Imperium at all is about maleficarum and Maker knows  _ that’s  _ useless propaganda.”

“Are you…alright?” Max asked, leaning against the banister to watch him. Dorian’s shoulders tensed at the question.

“I’m perfect,” Dorian said airily. “I’m always perfect. I mean, look at me.”

“I like to,” Max replied, and Dorian’s shoulders tensed even more. “Dorian?”

Max didn’t get much warning before Dorian cupped his face in his hands and pulled him into a searing kiss. Max melted into it, savouring the feel of Dorian’s lips against his, and the heady sensation of Dorian’s tongue tracing his own. Kissing Dorian felt decadent and addictive and Max happily reached for Dorian’s waist to pull him closer.

But Dorian caught his hands, and he stepped back. And he looked…upset.

“What’s--” Max started.

“We can’t,” Dorian said softly. “The Herald of Andraste might have been able to sneak about with a mage from Tevinter with only a few raised eyebrows, but the Inquisitor – it could ruin the Inquisition.”

“I don’t care,” Max said. He was pretty sure this was going to go down as one of the worst days he’d had.

“But you do, Max,” Dorian said. He said Max’s name with such care and concern that Max could actually feel his heart snapping in two. “Which is part of what makes you so very enchanting.”

“But I like you,” Max said, aware how ridiculous this sounded when said aloud.

Dorian still smiled, albeit sadly. “And I like you as well, and I shall cherish your friendship, but I cannot be the reason the Inquisitor is met with distrust.”

Max wanted to figure out a way to work Alexius’s time-travel charm, go back in time, and personally fight every single element that led to Tevinter’s current reputation. He wanted to take back his agreement to be the Inquisitor. He wanted to kiss Dorian again.

“Right,” Max managed to say, although it came out more as a croak. He sounded like one of Leliana’s ravens. He wished they were still back in Haven, that he’d managed to kiss Dorian before the attack, that they had a foundation to build on and fight for, rather than blueprints they were shutting away.

“I’m sorry, Max,” Dorian said.

“Me too,” Max replied. “I should – I should go.”

He turned and started to leave, wondering where exactly he could find in this broken castle that he could be entirely alone, but Dorian grabbed his hand. For just a second, Max felt a flare of hope, but when he turned around, Dorian still looked sad.

“I would ask one thing from you,” Dorian said. “And it will be the only Inquisitorial promise I ask for.”

“Anything,” Max said. He was a little embarrassed of the earnestness in his voice.

“Please,” Dorian said. “Please never ask me to leave you to die, ever again.” 

* * *

* * *

 

Cullen stared down at the philtre of lyrium on his desk. He’d feel better if he took it. He’d feel a lot better for a while.

But that was the whole problem, wasn’t it? He’d feel fine for a little bit, maybe months, maybe years, and then he’d…well he’d end up like the others, wasting away and losing his mind. But perhaps it would make serving the Inquisition easier. If it was supposed to be his atonement, his penance, surely it would be better served by him actually giving everything he could, even at the cost of personal endangerment.

“Commander?”

Cullen snapped the box shut and looked up at the soldier. He was one of the organisers for the repair groups, and was holding a board covered in notes.

“I thought you should know, your roof is next on the list of projects,” the soldier said. “Do you want us to find you alternate accommodation while--”

“No,” Cullen interrupted.

“No?” the soldier repeated.

“No, I’m not next on the list,” he said. “Move my roof to the very end.”

The soldier looked uncertain. “But, ser, it’s Firstfall. It’ll be Haring in a week and a half. Surely--”

“Has the infirmary been repaired? Are the Inquisitor’s quarters fully completed? Is there still a gaping hole in the corridor that leads to the war room? Has the mages’ tower been refurbished to actually serve as a mages’ tower?” Cullen demanded. He was being unreasonably short with the soldier, but he’d also been on edge for a while. The philtre sat just barely out of his grasp.

“Erm, no,” the soldier said, consulting his list.

“My roof stays at the end of the list until those things are completed, at the very least,” Cullen said.

“Yes, ser,” the soldier said, although he still looked reproachful.

Cullen nodded once and then left his office. The bitter cold outside on the walkway was bracing, and helped him think more clearly. It reinforced his decision to leave his roof full of holes. If nothing else, it would keep him from oversleeping.

Cullen made his way through the rotunda, past Solas, who was having a carrying argument about some aspect of magical history with Dorian on the next floor up, and through the great hall. They’d managed to clear it, and turn the spare wood to scaffolding, and it was coming along nicely if he had to give any thought to it. It made Josephine happy, which meant the rest of them didn’t have to listen to her wax poetic about Orlesian silks. Or, Cullen didn’t have to. Leliana seemed perfectly content to listen to Josephine’s fond reminiscences of Val Royeaux. Cullen would rather pick a fight with every mage in the Inquisition at once.

Even the garden was in the process of becoming a lovely place. Skyhold would be a beautiful fortress when the repairs were done. Even if Cullen didn’t think that was necessarily the point of a fortress, it did make it a more pleasant place to be. He understood there was some debate between Mother Giselle and the new apothecary Elan Ve’mal about whether they were going to use the garden for reflection or for growing more herbs for the apothecary. Cullen didn’t really care either way – didn’t see why they had to be mutually exclusive – and skirted around their debating before either woman could spot him and drag him into the fight. It appeared to be the denizens of Skyhold’s favourite way to settle arguments – drag one of the advisors or the Inquisitor into the middle of it.

He’d made it all the way to the door of the chantry without being stopped. He was prepared to breathe a sigh of relief, but the chantry door opened and Evelyn walked out. Cullen was in no mood to deal with her at that moment, even when she simply looked surprised and – he thought – guilty.

“Commander,” she said, recoiling slightly. “What are you doing here?”

Cullen frowned at her. “What are  _ you  _ doing here?”

Evelyn blinked at him. “Do templars do something different in chantries than the rest of us?”

“What do you mean?” Cullen asked. It was too easy with Evelyn Trevelyan to be fully aware his disquiet had absolutely nothing to do with the fact she was a mage. Or, at least, her being a mage was incidental, rather than instrumental. Because even though her hair was the wrong shade of red, and her eyes were the wrong colour, and – thank Andraste – her voice was entirely different, it was too easy to see in her exactly the same woman he’d nearly destroyed himself over.

“Do templars do something besides pray in chantries?” Evelyn asked, raising her eyebrows.

Although  _ that _ , he noted, was very different.

“Do mages pray in chantries?” he asked, unable to keep the complete shock out of his voice.

“Maybe they didn’t in Kinloch or Kirkwall, but it’s always where I’ve gone,” Evelyn replied. “Are you really so shocked that a mage would be Andrastian?”

He’d known mages who were Andrastian if he thought about it with any sort of clarity. But clarity was difficult to come by at that moment, and he’d so conflated Evelyn with someone else that he’d been taken aback.

“No, just that you would be,” he said.

“Oh, Commander,” Evelyn replied. “You don’t know anything about me.”

And then she stalked off, most closely resembling a lion following its prey. Cullen was infinitely grateful she was stalking away from him.

He shook himself and ducked into the chantry. Someone, maybe Evelyn, had lit the candles at the base of the statue of Andraste, and he sighed in disappointment with himself. He’d promised himself he was going to be better about making assumptions about other people. And Evelyn was right. He didn’t really know anything about her, just that she was from Ostwick, had led the Ostwick rebellion, and now he knew she was Andrastian. And no matter how much his subconscious tried to convince him otherwise, he knew that whatever she might be, she was not Solona Amell.

* * *

* * *

 

Evie found Max in the war room. He was poring over stacks of reports and suggestions from the advisors. He’d truly thrown himself into being the Inquisitor in the days since his appointment and it worried her just a little. Everything she knew of Max suggested that he wasn’t a workaholic like the other men in their family -- or at least that was how he’d always represented himself in his letters to the Circle.

“They’ve got you working hard, don’t they?” Evie asked. But on the other hand, it was a relief that he was able to work, that he wasn't dead under the snow in Haven. 

“Hmm?” Max replied, distracted. He looked up when Evie cleared her throat. “Oh, erm, yeah. Yeah, they do. But it’s fine, it keeps my mind off…things.”

“Things?” Evie asked. “Which things?”

“Just boy trouble,” Max said with an attempt at a smile. “What’s up?”

“What boy trouble?” Evie asked.

Max shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Do you need someone punched in the face?” Evie offered. “Or lit on fire? Or…”

“I need to know where Corypheus is and how to stop him,” Max replied. “We know he’s going to try and build a demon army, and we know he’s going to try and assassinate Empress Celene, but we don’t know how, or when, or where he’s going to do any of those things.”

Evie sighed and claimed one of the chairs at the table. She didn’t know whose chair it was, or if they even had assigned seats. It seemed like the sort of thing the commander might insist on – assigned seats in the war room to go with soldiers in neat little lines.

“Can I help?” Evie asked.

“Not unless you’ve somehow got spies in Corypheus’s camp,” Max said, running a hand through his hair. It was getting long, and the sides had nearly grown out. All of them could use a barber at this point, she realised, as her own hair was down to her waist now, and Dorian was truly struggling to maintain his moustache.

“Tragically, no,” Evie said. “At least, not that I know of. Who knows how many Venatori survived and joined him or how many mages abandoned the rebellion to stay with Tevinter – that’s a horrifying thought, I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

Max sighed. “No, it’s fine,” he said. “It’s something we need to think about.”

He looked down at the war table and examined a marker near the Hinterlands.

“Actually, we do need to get the remainder of the rebellion on board,” he said. “Apparently there are cells spread out and unwilling to come in. How would you contact them?”

Evie considered and draped her legs over the arm of the chair so she was sitting sideways and could poke Max in the arm with the toe of her boot until he grinned, just a little. Whatever the boy trouble was, it seemed to be causing him great distress. Evie might even have to speak to Dorian to try and figure out what it was.

“What are your options?” she asked.

“Josie thinks the mages won’t believe we aren’t templars and that we should get help from the Bannorn to do it,” Max said.

“Sure, it curries favour with the Bannorn as well, probably gets the mages here,” Evie said. “But the Inquisition is still small enough and weak enough that it might let the Bannorn think we owe them favours.”

Max raised an eyebrow at her. “You’ve spent a lot of time reading political debates, have you?”

“I spent eighteen years in a library,” Evie reminded him. “I’ve read  _ everything _ . What are the other suggestions?”

“Leliana thinks we should send agents from the Inquisition along with a mage from Redcliffe to try and convince them to come in,” Max said.

Evie grimaced.

“No?” Max asked.

“Word of Tevinter trying to steal us out from the Inquisition’s nose in Redcliffe probably got around,” Evie said. “Redcliffe mages aren’t going to be well received by people trying to avoid the Venatori.”

Max groaned, and Evie echoed him.

“Cullen thinks they’re scared to come out of hiding because of the aftermath of the mage-templar war,” Max said. “He wants to send non-templar soldiers to help escort them.”

Evie stared at him in despair.

“Also not good?” he asked.

“Not that, it’s just that what I’m about to say is probably going to make me puke,” Evie said. She cleared her throat. “The commander is probably correct, and the non-templar soldiers should be given documents signed and notarised by Fiona and myself to prove their veracity, and if you ever tell him I thought he was right, I will smack you.”

Max grinned, so she poked him with her toe again.

“Can I help with anything else?” Evie asked.

“Nah,” Max replied. “But thank you.”

Confident that Max was feeling at least a little better, Evie left him to it. She was almost immediately called to supervise the reconstruction of the inner circles’ rooms off the garden, which was the most aggressively boring thing she’d been party to since leaving Ostwick. When she was finally released a day later, she wanted to hit something.

It wasn’t just because of the rooms, of course. It was because of Haven and Corypheus and Max almost dying and feeling useless, but it was nice to have something more immediate to be frustrated about. She wanted to spar with someone, but the only time sparring had actually felt like it helped her frustration was when she’d sparred with the commander back in Haven.

She decided she was too annoyed and antsy to worry about why that was, and instead she gathered two quarterstaffs from the armoury after breakfast the next day,  and barged into the commander’s office. He didn’t look up when she came in, because, she assumed, he must think her one of his soldiers. He finally looked when she dropped the quarterstaff on his desk.

“Fight me,” Evie said. Maybe she commanded it; she wasn’t sure. She’d never really given commands before.

“I’m sorry?” the commander replied. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“You heard me,” Evie said. “Fight me.”

The commander blinked. “I always hear ‘fight me’ when you speak, Lady Trevelyan, but it’s usually not what you’ve actually just said.”

He looked down again, and Evie was a little relieved because her automatic reaction to his comment had been to grin and she didn’t want him to see that.

“Well then, now’s your chance,” she said.

“I’m busy,” he replied.

“Busy scouring reports because we don’t know anything well enough to actually  _ do  _ something?” Evie guessed.

The commander exhaled slowly like he was trying to control a fit of temper.

“Don’t tell me you’re not frustrated and wouldn’t focus better if you worked some of it off,” Evie said.

“Fine,” the commander said finally, and Evie managed not to crow in triumph.

Their second sparring match went much the same as their first. The commander was a more experienced fighter generally but Evie was more used to the medium. The commander had greater reach, but Evie had more flexibility. And it did help Evie’s frustration to fight him, even if she didn’t land as many blows as she had the first time. And even if her one attempt at taking him out at the knees didn’t do more than make him shift his feet.

“You’re not going to pull that off with an opponent my size,” he said when they paused for a water break. Evie imagined it was quite cold out for people who weren’t her, but the commander had managed to work up a sweat. His armour sat on one of the training dummies nearby, while Cassandra was under strict instruction not to damage it in any way. She did stare at them occasionally though, which Evie was trying not to think about.

“I’m sorry?” Evie asked.

The commander put down his water skin and picked his staff back up.

“You’re too small to try and flip someone my size by taking them right at the knee,” he said. “Not if they’re standing and have their feet anchored properly.”

“I’m not that small,” Evie grumbled, taking a swing at him. He leaned back and it missed his face by a hair.

“Are we going to do this again?” the commander asked, sounding a little bored. “Lady Trevelyan, you’re barely taller than Mistress Lavellan, and she’s small for an elf.”

Evie glared and swung again. He caught the blow on his own staff and for the first time, she wondered if he was taking it easy on her. There was very little reason why she would be equal to a seasoned templar in any sort of combat, even if she did have the advantage of speed and flexibility.

“You’re coddling me,” she accused, bashing into his staff with hers. She used enough force that he had to take a step back, which did make her feel a little better.

“Of course not,” he replied, but he was smirking, and it tugged on the scar through his lip, and that made Evie feel even more like she was burning than usual. “I just don’t think--” His staff smashed into hers and she staggered back. “—the Inquisitor would like it--” He bashed forward again and she stumbled. “—if I truly damaged his sister.” His staff caught her behind the knees, but as she fell, his hand closed around her forearm. Instinctively, Evie grabbed his as well.

She dangled, suspended and seething in rage, for what felt like an infinite amount of time. The commander needed a haircut as well, she noticed, as blond curls were falling into his face. It made him look younger, and less troubled, and less uptight, and Evie hated it.

She also hated the words that came out of her mouth, because she didn’t tell them to.

“Teach me,” she said.

The commander didn’t drop her, because she had a grip on him as well, but it was a close thing.

“Sorry?” he asked.

“Teach me how to fight better than I do,” she clarified.

It was clearly not an outcome he’d been expecting, which was fine by Evie since it wasn’t one she’d been expecting either.

“Fine,” he said, and pulled her to her feet, although the concern in his expression made her sure he hadn’t been meaning to answer affirmatively.

They stood in awkward silence in the courtyard, neither of them entirely sure whether this was reality, and if it was, how they were meant to react. The spell was broken by Cassandra making a disgusted noise behind them.

The commander let go of Evie’s arm like it had burned him – she paused to double check that it hadn’t – and started to put his armour back on while Evie drank from her own water skin.

“Sometime this week, perhaps?” the commander suggested, straightening the hood of his coat.

“Fine,” Evie said.

“Fine,” the commander replied.

“Fine,” Evie said.

The commander opened his mouth to respond – she assumed with another “fine” – but was interrupted by a man walking up the stairs towards the tavern. Evie lowered her water skin and stared. The commander’s jaw went slack. Somewhere behind them, Cassandra’s sword clattered to the ground.

The man took no notice of them and continued on his way up the stairs to the battlements, the staff on his back glinting in the harsh winter sun.

“Is that--” Cassandra asked, joining Evie and the commander in their staring.

“Uh huh,” Evie replied, still shocked. The man reached the top of the battlements, turned, and vanished into the nearby tower.

The Champion of Kirkwall had come to the Inquisition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Max's theme song became, at some point, "There Is a Light that Never Goes Out" by the Smiths and I'm not sure when.


	13. The Tale of the Champion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tales are told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact about ME: Andromeda - there's a terminal somewhere in the Krogan camp that has a movie summary (I can't remember the movie summary part) that specifically mentioned the great actor of that era Bull Vega Jr. 
> 
> Anyway.

Max was staring at the war table when Varric found him. He couldn’t remember if he’d slept the night before, because every time he started to drift off,  he’d remember the taste of Dorian’s lips, Dorian saying they couldn’t be together, and then he’d lie awake, miserable.

“Inquisitor,” Varric said, and Max jumped. He was going to go out on a limb and guess he’d slept maybe a total of two hours in his tent. Josephine had tried to convince him that they should focus on building his quarters properly as soon as they were able, but Max had insisted that at the very least they finish the infirmary first. He understood that she wanted him to have proper quarters not for his own comfort, but for the sake of appearances. They could agree that the Inquisitor sacrificing comfort in favour of building an infirmary would look good, though, even if that wasn’t why Max was doing it.

“Varric! How are you?” Max asked, rubbing a finger under his eye and finding it puffy.

“Better than you I’m gonna guess,” Varric said, although he sounded apologetic. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Max said. “How can I help?”

Varric considered, and thumbed through a few of the reports on the table. “Actually, it’s more about how I can help you.”

“Oh?” Max asked.

“When Haven was attacked, I sent a letter,” he said. “I might have found you a lead against Corypheus.”

“What is it?” Max asked, lurching to his feet and staring.

“You should come meet him yourself,” Varric suggested.

Max blinked. “Your lead is a person?” he asked, but Varric didn’t elaborate, choosing instead to lead him from the war room, into the garden, and up onto the ramparts.

“It’s better for him to avoid being in public right now,” Varric said by way of explanation, and Max suddenly realised who Varric had to be talking about. He didn’t get confirmation until they rounded a corner and headed down to a landing.

The man standing there and looking out over Skyhold was tall, about Max’s height, and rugged. He had the sort of beard and forearms that said he would take care of you all winter long by personally chopping all the wood you needed and then making you stew and then keeping you warm at night regardless of whether or not there was a fire, and given the way his black hair fluttered in the wind, he’d look damn pretty doing it.

Max blinked. He’d read Varric’s _Tale of the Champion,_ but he’d never expected Hawke to be so…hot.

“Inquisitor, my friend Garret Hawke,” Varric said, gesturing to the legend before them while apparently oblivious of Max’s star-struck crush. “Better known as the Champion of Kirkwall.”

“Although I don’t use that title much anymore,” Hawke replied. Even his voice was attractive, and Max wasn’t sure if he wanted to be him or do him.

“Hawke,” Max said, shaking the hand Hawke offered and not focusing at all on the callouses there. That would be counterproductive. “It’s good to meet you. Varric talks about you a lot.”

“Only the bad stuff,” Varric assured Hawke.

“Where would you even start?” Hawke asked, and Max didn’t think he was imagining it when Hawke looked him over with critical and approving eyes before turning his attention to Varric.

“Maker’s ass, I missed you,” Varric said, grabbing Hawke in a hug.

“I missed you too,” Hawke assured him. He let go of Varric and leaned an elbow on his head so he could talk to Max. “So I understand that Corypheus is back.”

“Get off me,” Varric complained, elbowing Hawke in the side. Hawke grunted but pulled his elbow off Varric’s head. “You’re worse than Daisy.”

“She only braided flowers into your hair once, Varric,” Hawke replied, but he was grinning. So was Varric. Max hadn’t seen him smile that much as long as he’d known him.

Varric shook his head in dismay but didn’t contradict him. He started to say something – Max presumed either a jab about their time in Kirkwall or about Corypheus – but was cut off when Evie barrelled onto their landing and tackled Hawke into a hug.

“Hawke! You’re actually here!” she exclaimed.

“Evelyn?” Hawke asked, sounding both bewildered and delighted to see her. “Maker’s breath, what are you doing here?”

“I’m part of the Inquisition,” Evie said, letting go of him and stepping back to examine him. She was flushed, and a little sweaty, almost like she’d been exercising. Max couldn’t imagine what she’d been doing. Or worse, he could, and didn’t want to consider his sister doing anything of the sort.

Which all just made him think of Dorian kissing him and turning him down in the same conversation, and brought his mood crashing downwards.

“The leader of the Free Marcher rebel mages joined the Inquisition,” Hawke said, raising both eyebrows incredulously. “Varric, did you have something to do with this? You always could talk anyone into anything.”

“No, actually he didn’t,” Evie said. “Hawke, I assume you’ve met my twin brother, the Inquisitor?”

“Ah!” Hawke said, looking between Evie and Max. “That would explain the…”

He gestured to both of them in a way Max assumed was meant to indicate their similar features.

“You know, I have younger siblings who’re twins,” Hawke added. “Actually, she’s a mage and he isn’t, as well. Funny how that happens.”

“Firefly, did anyone else see Hawke arrive?” Varric asked. He crossed his arms and looked awkwardly across the ramparts like he was expecting someone to descend.

“Erm, yeah,” Evie said. “The commander and, erm, Cassandra.”

“This would be the seeker you mentioned?” Hawke asked, raising his eyebrow at Varric.

“The same,” Varric agreed. “I’m going to attempt to disappear before she kills me, if that’s good with you guys. I’ll meet you in the tavern for drinks?”

Hawke nodded in agreement, and Varric vanished. If Max hadn’t actually watched him head up the stairs, he’d almost assume he dropped through the stones they were standing on.

“Should I be worried about this commander of yours?” Hawke asked.

“No, actually, you like him,” Evie said. “Cullen Rutherford.”

It was the first time Max had heard Evie say Cullen’s name, which struck him as almost funny.

“Curly’s here?” Hawke asked, his eyebrows creeping higher. “I wonder if he’s hiding under his desk yet.”

Evie shrugged, and Max didn’t have an answer either.

“So Varric said you might know something about Corypheus?” Max asked.

He did. Hawke had fought Corypheus before, it turned out, and had a Grey Warden contact who’d been investigating the strange occurrences going on in the Wardens of late. His contact was in a village called Crestwood to the north, which immediately became Max’s next destination. It would be nice, he decided, to get out of the fortress, at least for a while.

* * *

* * *

 

Ella stared at the pints on the table in front of her. There was a whole row of mugs, each full of a different kind of alcohol, directly at eye-level when she rested her chin on her folded arms. She’d broken the Chargers’ collective heart by deciding she preferred wine after they’d subjected her to a taste test. She’d had ale before, more than enough of it, but wine she liked. She liked it a lot.

“It’s so fruity, though,” Stitches said.

Ella shrugged. “But it’s nice,” she decided.

“And it’s Tevinter wine too,” Krem groaned, slouching in his seat.

“And you’re a Tevinter whining, I don’t get what the problem is,” Bull said. “So the elf likes wine. Who cares?”

“You do,” Krem said. “What was it you told the Inquisitor back when he was just the Herald? You’re only good at command when you know who your men are sleeping with and what they like to drink?”

“But Ella isn’t one of my men,” Bull replied.

Krem shrugged as if to say this was inconsequential. It was, Ella figured, as she’d spent most of her time with the Chargers since they arrived in Skyhold. She liked them. It was like having a clan, even if Bull didn’t necessarily want her there. But she was used to not being wanted.

“I’m happy to be the Inquisition liaison,” Ella said, pulling her chin off the table and tucking her feet under her. The wine had a soothing effect at the very least. It kept her from feeling like she was going to vibrate out of her skin for lack of something to do. “Do you all have any assignments coming up?”

“I suggested to the ambassador that we might be a good outfit to go back and search Haven for anything that got left behind,” Krem said. He swallowed and then took a drink. “Or anyone.”

Ella nodded and drank more of her wine.

“I bet you’d like sangria,” Bull said.

Ella blinked. She didn’t think it was common practice – actually she knew it wasn’t – for people who didn’t particularly care for others to suggest things they might like.

Her comment of, “But I thought you didn’t like me,” was drowned out by Varric ducking into the tavern and heading straight for the first floor. Ella frowned at his retreating back.

“Weird,” Bull said. “Usually he stays down here.”

Krem shrugged, as did the rest of the Chargers.

“I’m gonna see if Cabot has sangria,” Bull said, finishing off his drink and heading over to the bar. Ella watched him flirt with one of the barmaids, who giggled, and then he returned with two new mugs. He handed one to Ella and kept one for himself.

“It’s not sangria, it’s mulled wine, but I think you’ll like it all the same,” Bull said.

Ella tried not to let her confusion show on her face, and accepted the mug. It was warm, which was delightful since it was freezing in Skyhold and she didn’t have a proper room yet, even though she and Evie had offered to share again. She took a sip and felt her ears perk up in delight.

“This is even better than regular wine,” she said.

Bull nodded, satisfied with her reaction, which just made Ella frown again. He always acted like he liked her and didn’t mind her being around, right up until Krem mentioned she was part of their group. As soon as he did, Bull was always the quickest to point out that it wasn’t the case.

“Well, I’m going to go see what’s got Varric all panicked,” Bull said. “Don’t get up to too much trouble while I’m gone.”

“Yes, mother,” Krem said, rolling his eyes.

Ella smiled, but as soon as Krem and the others had turned to conversation about who would win in an arm-wrestling contest – Cullen or Cassandra – she slipped away up the stairs. Bull and Varric were in a table near a window. Varric could see out it, but was also sunk deep enough into the shadows that he couldn’t be seen himself.

Ella folded herself into the chair beside him before either of the men noticed her. When they did, Bull smiled, and Varric seemed glad that she was blocking the immediate view of his person from anyone coming up the stairs.

“Who are you hiding from?” Ella asked.

“Cassandra,” Varric said without hesitation.

“Why?” Bull asked.

Varric’s answer arrived in the form of a person, a man, who sat at the empty chair at their table and nodded at Ella and Bull in some form of greeting.

“Violet, Tiny, my friend Hawke,” Varric said.

Hawke smiled slightly. “And your actual names are…”

“Ella,” Ella supplied, taking a drink of her mulled wine.

“The Iron Bull,” Bull said.

“And you’re…part of the Inquisition, the Iron Bull?” Hawke asked, his entire face a mask of scepticism.

“Oh, yeah, you’re from Kirkwall,” Bull said. “I can see why you wouldn’t like people who look like me.”

“I actually had lots of friendly dealings with the Qunari in Kirkwall,” Hawke said. “Until my friend stole their relic and they took over the city and executed the Viscount.”

“These things will happen,” Bull said, but Ella thought he was actively trying to make himself seem less giant and intimidating than he was.

“And you duelled the Arishok in single combat,” Varric added.

“We don’t need to go there, Varric,” Hawke said. He glanced at Ella and Bull conspiratorially. “I wouldn’t recommend having your own propaganda writer, by the way. It’s murder on the reputation.”

Varric snorted and flicked something at him across the table.

“What brings you to the Inquisition, Hawke?” Ella asked.

“Corypheus,” Hawke said. “I’ve fought him before, unfortunately. I’ve got a friend in the Grey Wardens who might be able to help. I’ll be taking the Inquisitor. Do the two of you travel with him?”

“Sometimes,” Ella said. “But I think we’re going back to Haven to see if anything can be recovered.”

Hawke nodded like that made sense. Ella glanced at Bull to see if he was going to contradict her. Fortunately, he didn’t. He just nodded in confirmation, and tipped his mug towards her. Ella would need to figure out what was going on. Maybe she could ask Krem.

"How'd you get hooked up with the Wardens?" Bull asked instead, not necessarily dismissing Ella's comment, but by not acknowledging it, she chose to believe it was a confirmation. 

"Erm, well it's an ugly story really," Hawke said. "Varric's brother..." 

"My brother found us a Deep Roads expedition about ten years ago, and we went with him - Hawke, me, Hawke's baby siblings, and Blondie." 

Ella knew from previous conversations with Varric that "Blondie" was a mage called Anders by everyone who wasn't Varric, and was also responsible for the explosion in the Kirkwall Chantry. And from reading Varric's book - which she'd borrowed off Evie - she knew that Anders had been Hawke's lover. 

"Blondie used to be a warden - apparently he got dragged in by the Empress of Ferelden herself - and when we were down in the Deep Roads, Junior got tainted by a darkspawn," Varric said. 

"My little brother, Carver," Hawke translated. "We were lucky there was a group of Wardens nearby that Anders helped us find, and they took Carver, because if he could be made a Warden, he'd survive the blight, but my sister Bethany refused to let him go by himself since she was convinced he'd get himself killed. And so I've been close to the Wardens since then." 

Ella nodded, and wondered what it might be like to have a sibling she loved enough to volunteer for something as mad as the Grey Wardens just to keep them from being alone. 

"To be fair, he probably would've," Varric said. 

"Oh, to be sure," Hawke agreed. 

"I didn't realise Ferelden had an empress," Bull said, raising his eyebrow at Hawke and Varric. 

"Ah, sorry, I meant Warden Commander Solona Amell, the de-facto Queen of Ferelden, Hero of the Fifth Blight, most powerful woman in the entire country," Varric said. 

"Oh, right, of course," Bull said. Ella almost giggled at the way he said it, as if he was being foolish for not knowing that instantly. But Ella was also fairly sure Bull had known exactly who Varric was talking about, and was simply gathering information. He was good at that. He could tell Krem that knowing who his men were sleeping with and what they were drinking was just good for command, but Ella was fairly sure it was just how he was - any information he could get from people, about anything, was information worth getting. 

She wondered what information he'd collected on her.

* * *

* * *

 

The news that Garret Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, was in Skyhold spread rather like a plague in Dorian’s opinion. He stayed holed up in the library, where it was safer, where he didn’t really have to listen to anyone swooning over the Champion, and which Max seemed to avoid like - well, like Dorian was avoiding Max.

It didn’t save him from Mother Giselle, walking by and speaking to others in a carrying voice that always reached him.

“Such dreadful rumours,” Mother Giselle would say. “Can you even imagine the horror if our Inquisitor were with a _Tevinter_ ? A Tevinter _mage_?”

The people she spoke to would crow in terror, and then they’d be gone -- and Dorian, though more upset, was also more resolved with every cutting remark. Especially now that they were putting together an expedition to Crestwood with the Champion, and Dorian was decidedly not going. He would stay in the library. He was a talented researcher, if nothing else.

His academic peace was broken the day the expedition left by someone storming into the library.

“I see you found yourself a new templar to torment, Evelyn, dear,” Vivienne called from afar.

“Fuck _off_ , Vivienne,” Evie snapped, and then she was standing in front of Dorian with her arms crossed, glaring down in the most intimidating manner possible. Her hair crackled, and she smelled more like smoke and fire than usual, which Dorian knew to be a bad sign.

“So,” Evie said. “What did you do to my brother?”

“I beg your pardon?” Dorian asked, looking up at her. He tried to avoid looking into a mirror most mornings since the incident with Max, but he knew he couldn’t look very well. His suspicion was confirmed by the way Evie’s face softened.

“Or what did he do to you?” she asked instead.

“Oh, are you speaking to me again?” Dorian asked, and turned away in a huff he didn’t feel.

Evie dithered for a moment, and then sat on the floor and leaned against the bookshelf. Dorian wondered if she was going to accidentally light it on fire, but didn’t comment as it was yet another shelf full of volumes on Divine Galatea.

“I was just upset that you stopped me from saving Max,” Evie said. “Or trying to, anyway.”

Dorian scoffed. “You think _I_ wanted to leave him there? I only left because he made me promise I’d do what I could to keep you safe if something were to happen to him.”

“And so why do you both look like someone suckerpunched you and told you that you were never allowed to speak again?” Evie asked.

“In my case, because Mother Giselle has done almost exactly that,” Dorian said. Evie’s eyebrows raised. “And I won’t be responsible for people thinking the Inquisitor is the thrall of a Tevinter blood mage.”

“And you told Max that, I’m guessing?” Evie asked. Dorian nodded, and finally condescended to sit in his favourite armchair. To his dismay, one of the hundreds of feral cats who lived in the castle promptly crawled into his lap. Dorian glared at it and it started kneading his leg. “If you both like each other, which I’m guessing you do, why not just sneak around?”

Dorian sighed. “You think it would really be possible to keep anything personal secret here?”

Evie grimaced. “No, I suppose not.”

“And so no, sneaking didn’t come up as an option,” Dorian said. “It’s not as if we’d be running about hiding true love or anything. It’s just infatuation.”

He believed what he was saying, but somehow it still felt like a lie. He didn’t love Max. He’d never loved anyone, and as sad a state of affairs as that was, it wasn’t likely to change any time soon.

“Why didn’t you go to Crestwood with them?” Dorian asked.

“Go to Crestwood with Max and Hawke and Varric? Sure,” Evie said. “Go to Crestwood with Max and Hawke and Varric and Cassandra and Sera? At once?”

Evie shook her head intently and Dorian laughed.

“Besides, I have to wait for the remainder of the mage rebellion,” she said. “They’re on their way and it’ll help to have a friendly face.”

She sighed.

“Maybe it’ll help you, too,” she added, and leaned over to scratch the cat’s ears.

* * *

* * *

 

Hawke had ridden ahead to track down his contact, despite Varric accusing him of cowardice, since he didn’t have Hawke’s aura of majesty to protect him from Cassandra anymore. Varric didn’t know which Warden contact Hawke was bringing them to, and his refusal to speculate made Cassandra seethe. He found he was infinitely grateful to have Max along, riding directly between him and Cassandra. Every so often, he’d glance at one of them nervously.

Things didn’t get truly bad until they made camp for the night. Max and Sera tried to steer the conversation to literally anything besides Hawke, but Cassandra wouldn’t have it.

“You lying little shit!” she shouted. “You knew where Hawke was all along!”

“You’re damned right I did!” Varric replied. “It’s not like you told me why you needed him!”

“But if the Champion had been at the Conclave, perhaps Divine Justinia--”

“Cassandra,” Max interrupted. “Varric’s on our side!”

“You know what I think would’ve happened if Hawke was at the Conclave, Seeker?” Varric demanded, although he was grateful for Max’s interceding. “I think he’d be dead too. You people have done enough to him.”

Cassandra gaped at him and Varric took it as a cue to turn and barricade himself in his tent. He didn’t need Cassandra yelling at him to make him feel guilty. Hawke probably would’ve been useful to the Inquisition sooner. But he also felt sure Hawke would’ve died at the Conclave.

“Are you alright?” Max asked, ducking into the tent as well.

Varric stared at Max. They could hear Cassandra working on chopping down a tree – he assumed with her bare hands and sheer unbridled rage – beyond the camp.

“I’m sure she’ll calm down,” Max said.

“Are you?” Varric asked. Max didn’t answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is "here lies the abyss" going to suck real bad in this version? You bet!


	14. Heroes Past and Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which questionable life choices are had by all.

It started raining well before they got to Crestwood, and only got worse as they approached the camp Scout Harding had assembled for them.

“Inquisitor,” she said, nodding at Max while the four of them dismounted. “Hope you didn’t get your fill of the undead in the Fallow Mire.”

Max groaned. “Of course not,” he said.

“Then you’re in luck, because Crestwood is crawling with them,” Harding said. “They’re coming from, well…”

She pointed towards the lake, and Max turned, expecting the worst. It made it slightly less dismaying when he found it. Green bubbled up from the centre of the water and sprayed towards the shore like it was a bubbling pot.

“Well, shit,” Varric said. Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

“At least I can shoot the undead,” Sera said.

They had to fight through a swarm just to get to the village of Crestwood, where the mayor told them that in order to get to the dam controls and drain the lake, they’d also have to fight through a fortress that had been overrun by bandits. Max got the impression the man was trying to make it as difficult as humanly possible for them to get to the rift in the middle of the lake, but couldn’t imagine why.

“Do we want to try and find Hawke and his contact before we go after the keep?” Max asked.

“They might be able to give us a hand,” Varric suggested. “What do you think, Seeker? Can you work with the Champion without trying to arrest him for apostacy?”

“I wanted to work with him for the Inquisition in the first place,” Cassandra snapped.

Max sighed. “Don’t make me separate the two of you,” he said.

“What are you going to do? Threaten to turn this Inquisition around, right now?” Sera asked.

Both Varric and Cassandra snorted in something that resembled amusement, and so Max decided they were probably okay to keep moving. They had to fight through a group of red templars in the hills before they could reach the rendezvous with Hawke, but it made Max feel better to fight something. The combination of the undead and the rain was making him think of the Fallow Mire, like Scout Harding had suggested, but it wasn’t a bad association. Instead it was a happy memory of drinking with Evie, and Dorian, and Blackwall while they recited poetry to each other.

Max tried to shake it off as they found Hawke. He had to be the Inquisitor, not some unjustifiably heartbroken Marcher brat.

“Ah good, you’re here,” Hawke said. “I just arrived myself. Had to take a back way. I forgot Ferelden had such a problem with the undead.”

“Does it make you miss the Free Marches?” Max asked.

“I’m not sure anything could make me miss Kirkwall,” Hawke replied.

“What about your best and dearest friend?” Varric asked.

Hawke flashed him a grin, and led the way into the cave. Max didn’t know exactly what they were in for with this Grey Warden, since the only Warden he’d ever dealt with was Blackwall and he seemed an atypical case. At the end of the cave tunnel, there was a wooden partition tagged with a smuggler’s emblem. It was doused liberally in blood a few days old.

“So your Warden friend is…friendly, right?” Max asked, glancing at Hawke.

“Friendly enough,” Hawke said, and he pushed open the door.

“Not another step,” a man said from within. He had his back to them and was poring over something that looked like a map. He’d neglected armour with sleeves, which Max found very obliging considering the shape of the man’s arms.

“It’s just me,” Hawke said.

“Somehow that doesn’t make it better, brother,” the Warden said, turning around. His black hair was less of a disaster thank Hawke’s, and his beard was neater, and his eyes were blue, but Max had absolutely no trouble spotting the family resemblance.

“Junior?” Varric demanded incredulously, which Max thought was an exceptionally bold way to address a man significantly taller than Max -- or Hawke, for that matter.

“Varric,” the Warden replied.

“Inquisitor, my contact in the Wardens,” Hawke said. “My baby brother, Carver.”

Carver Hawke’s expression was one of controlled anger.

“Baby?” Max asked in disbelief.

“Four and a half years,” Carver said. “He thinks he’s funny.”

“So do a lot of people,” Hawke replied. “Where’s Bethany?”

“She’s with Aveline still,” Carver said. “They’re looking into Weisshaupt.”

“Good,” Hawke said. “So what have you found out?”

Carver had heard of a group of Wardens moving south through Orlais towards a place called the Western Approach. He didn’t know how it connected to Corypheus, and seemed disinclined to speculate. Max assured him that they would send a scouting party as soon as they got back to Skyhold, which Carver accepted. In the meantime, the Hawke brothers would be perfectly happy to help the Inquisition deal with the bandits in the keep.

Max enjoyed fighting beside them, he decided, while they routed the bandits out of Caer Bronach. They bickered, and were competitive almost to a fault, but it was entertaining to listen to. Varric would chime in every so often, commenting that it was just like old times, which made Cassandra growl at him and Sera laugh.

“So which did you put money on?” Max asked her as Hawke crushed a bandit with some form of magic Max was unfamiliar with, and Carver swore at him for stealing his mark.

“Sorry?” Sera asked, shooting the bandit attempting to charge Varric. While the bandit staggered, Cassandra smashed him with her shield and sent him straight to Carver who cleaved him in two. Sera grimaced.

“You have money on whether Cassandra and Varric are going to kill each other or shag,” Max reminded her. “Which did you bet on?”

“Oh, definitely that they’re going to boff,” Sera said. “I’ve got money on Evelyn and Cully-Wully too.”

She shot another arrow at the bandits and giggled maliciously.

“Ten sovereigns and all the left socks of the chantry,” Max remembered. He lobbed a shock grenade into an oncoming bandit group and neatly finished them off while they spasmed. It was the closest he could get to Dorian’s electric paralysis without actually having him there. “ _ That’s  _ what you and Bull were betting on?”

“’Course,” Sera said, like this should be obvious, picking off an archer from a rampart above them. “It’s gonna be hate sex of course, but it should get them to get their knickers out of a twist.”

Max grimaced. He did not want to think about his sister sleeping with anyone.

“Maybe I should just steal them,” Sera said, leaping back as a warrior rushed them. He rushed directly into Max’s knife and crumpled to the ground.

“Steal what?” Max demanded.

“Their knickers!” Sera exclaimed, and then she bounded off to take out as many of the other archers as she could.

The last of the bandits died with difficulty, and the six of them had to stop and breathe at the top of the keep. The bandits had flown a smugglers’ flag there and as soon as Cassandra recovered – first of all of them – she lowered it and hurled it over the edge of the parapet.

“You know, this is a pretty nice keep,” Varric said, wiping some of the blood off his jacket. At least the Crestwood rains were good for something, Max reasoned. “The locals might not even mind if we move in.”

“What about the King of Ferelden?” Max asked. “He’s already fairly irritated with me.”

“Ali-bear?” Hawke asked, lounging against the wall and managing to make blood-covered exhaustion look sexy. “We’re family, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“I’m sorry, how are  _ you  _ related to the King of Ferelden?” Cassandra asked.

“Ah, that would be telling,” Hawke replied.

Max wanted to know more about how exactly the Hawke family was related to Alistair Theirin, but didn’t get a chance to ask while they made their way across the dam to the controls the mayor had indicated. The only complication was a set of teenagers canoodling in the middle of the abandoned pub.

“This place is hardly romantic,” Cassandra scolded.

“As if you’d know anything about romance, Seeker,” Varric replied.

“Please don’t tell our parents!” the boy pleaded.

“We won’t,” Max assured him. “None of us are strangers to clandestine trysts.”

“Is there any other kind of tryst?” Hawke asked. “I thought a tryst was, by definition, clandestine.”

“Oh, fair point,” Max said.

They drained the lake, dealt with the undead that cropped up, dealt with the fade rift in the flooded caves that appeared to have been occupied when the dam was shut, and returned to Crestwood in much worse spirits than they had been. Max could’ve slept for about a week, and was glad they had a keep with a roof and dry spaces to curl up in. They sent word via the scouts that a party needed to be dispatched from Skyhold to come hold onto the keep for them, and went their separate ways to rest.

At least, Max tried to sleep. It went badly almost as soon as he stretched out on his bedroll.

_ I can’t be the reason the Inquisitor is distrusted, _ Dorian said in his head. But he’d still kissed him.  _ I will cherish your friendship _ , but he’d kissed him like he was drowning and Max was air.

There had been a storage room full of vats on their way to the dam, he remembered, and he kicked away his bedroll and headed to find it. To his surprise, it was already occupied.

“Ah. Inquisitor,” Hawke said from a small table in the corner. He lifted a tankard in Max’s direction in greeting. “Come here often?”

“Oh, you know, only when I can’t sleep,” Max replied, taking the chair opposite him and kicking his legs over the edge of the table. He didn’t think he imagined the way Hawke’s gaze lingered for a bit on his calves. “Anything good on tap here?”

“I’ve no idea what it is but it doesn’t taste like Fereldan beer, so I’ll take it,” Hawke said, standing and pouring Max a glass as well.

“Dorian likes Ferelden beer,” Max heard himself say, and then wanted to kick himself in the head, had he possessed the necessary flexibility.

“Dorian,” Hawke repeated. “Is Dorian the reason you can’t sleep?”

“Is Anders the reason you can’t?” Max replied. Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, I’ve read Varric’s book.”

“Most people have, it seems,” Hawke said.

Max drank his beer and tried not to put his foot in his mouth again. He wasn’t sure it was a skill he possessed.

“Are you still together? I know Evie helped smuggle you through Ostwick, but she never said…” Max started.

Hawke sighed and took another drink. “That’s a very complicated question.”

He considered for a long enough time that Max had finished his beer.

“The short answer is no,” Hawke said. “We’re not involved anymore. Maybe someday I’ll figure out how to forgive him, but I doubt it’s going to happen any time soon. What about you and this Dorian?”

“We never were,” Max said.

“So you’re just pining?” Hawke asked, somehow managing to look both amused and sympathetic at once. “He must be special.”

“In a better world, I’d actually get to find out,” Max replied, letting his gaze linger on Hawke’s eyes, and his mouth briefly, before standing. “Thanks for the drink.”

“It’s your fortress,” Hawke said, standing as well. “I think I’m going to attempt to sleep again.”

“Me too,” Max said, leading the way out of the vat storage and heading back towards the room he’d claimed. Hawke’s was further down the corridor, but he lingered next to Max’s door for a moment. “Actually, I’m not sure I’ll be able to.”

“Me neither,” Hawke replied, and Max grinned, just a little, before pulling Hawke into a kiss. Hawke responded by sliding his hands around Max’s waist under his coat and working diligently on untucking his shirt so he could get his hands on Max’s skin. It was how Max had wanted the kiss with Dorian to go, but even though Hawke wasn’t Dorian, it was so nice to feel wanted that Max didn’t care. He fumbled behind him for the doorknob and managed to unlatch it record time. They stumbled inside and Hawke closed the door behind them.

* * *

* * *

It turned out that the biggest problem Evie had getting the rebel mages comfortable in Skyhold was keeping Vivienne away from them. She disapproved so heartily of everyone who’d rebelled and allowed the Circles to fall that she would glower imperiously at them from on high in her loft if they set foot in the great hall, and it took almost all of Evie’s self-control not to set her on fire.

“Can’t you banish her somewhere?” Evie demanded of Max’s advisors when she came to lodge a formal complaint. “The Inquisition has enough mages, both in the inner circle and in our forces. Can’t we just…”

“You would have us send away the court enchanter to the Orlesian Empress?” Josephine asked. “I cannot see that going over well with Celine.”

“Who cares?” Evie and the commander asked in unison. They glanced at each other and uniformly vowed not to mention agreeing ever again.

“We need to try and stop Empress Celine’s assassination,” Josephine informed them, giving both of them an annoyed look. “As that was a major point to Corypheus’s plot, it would be prudent to not aggravate her before we can save her life.”

Evie grumbled.

“That being said, there is a diplomatic operation in Val Royeaux that I believe Madame de Fer would be perfect for,” Josephine said, and Evie let out a sigh of relief. “I will send her along the next time I see her.”

“Thank you,” Evie said. “I appreciate that.”

Josephine inclined her head, and Evie left the war room. There was another party of mages arriving any minute and if she had to listen to Vivienne asking after her new templar one more time, she was going to snap.

When she wasn’t helping Fiona organise the mages, Evie was practicing her sparring. Against the training dummies she used her actual staff, but against the commander, she still used the wooden quarterstaffs they borrowed from the armoury. Fortunately, he’d stopped going easy on her, which meant that while she left every training session sore and covered in bruises, she was also getting better.

“How are the new mages settling in?” the commander asked, blocking her attack with slightly less ease than usual. He’d said that at their next training session, he’d bring a wooden training sword and a shield to attempt to teach her how to better defend against them.

“They’re fine as long as Vivienne doesn’t go near them,” Evie said. “They’re still skittish of the templars we’ve got around.”

“If any of them turn into abominations, the templars need to be nearby in case,” the commander said, striking out. Evie managed to block the strike.

“I know,” Evie said. “That’s what I told them. Can’t say they were thrilled.”

“You told them that?” the commander asked, so taken aback Evie was actually able to bash him in the leg before he recovered himself.

“I’m not an idiot, Commander,” Evie reminded him. She tried to bring her staff down towards his shoulder, but he blocked that with ease.

“When your opponent has a height advantage, swinging down isn’t going to work very well for you,” the commander said, apparently deciding to ignore Evie’s comment about her own intelligence. “But if you swing upwards, and use the ballast of the head of your staff, you’ll be able to get a very solid hit in. You could certainly dent a helmet like that.”

Evie practiced the motion a few times and promised to try it properly on the training dummies later.

“I’d try to practice on you, but it seems like a good way to break someone’s jaw, and I think Max would be cross with me,” Evie said.

“Thank you for your consideration and kindness, Lady Trevelyan,” the commander said flatly. Evie grinned, and to her surprise, he seemed to be trying to hide a similar expression. It made her wonder again about their conversation outside the chantry weeks earlier -- which she didn’t like thinking about  because it made her think she might have things in common with a templar, and she didn’t care for that.

She was working on readjusting her grip when the commander looked up at someone over her shoulder.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“I was looking for Commander Cullen?” a man asked.

Evie’s blood ran first cold, and then very hot. The staff in her hands started to smoke under her palms, and she felt sure her face was doing something horrible. Because it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible. He’d been transferred to Kirkwall, and surely, he’d died there like he deserved.

“I’m not sure you remember me, we served together in Kirkwall?” the templar asked, and Evie spun around.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded. He still looked exactly the same, as if the eight years between the present and when Evie had last seen him hadn’t happened. His face was still soft and round and trustworthy, his freckles still innocent and playful. Evie wanted to beat his face in.

“Do I know--” he started, and then scanned her more closely. “Eves? What are you doing in the Inquisition? I thought they made you tranquil.”

He was unprepared for Evie’s staff to catch him in the gut. He might have been wearing his templar armour, but even with it he was still smaller and lighter than the commander.

“That’s what you have to say?” Evie demanded, smashing him in the shoulder and then kicking him in the greave. It hurt her foot more than it hurt him, she was sure, but it also unbalanced him enough that she could pull his feet out from under him with her staff. He went sprawling back on the courtyard grounds. “You thought they made me  _ tranquil _ ?”

She kicked him in the stomach and felt her hands starting to turn to fireballs. The only thing that stopped her from releasing them was that she was no longer standing on the ground. For reasons she couldn’t care about at the moment, she’d been lifted away.

“How many mages, Damien?” Evie demanded, too incensed to give a shit that she couldn’t reach him anymore. “How many times over the years did you seduce one of us and then turn us in because they would just  _ make us tranquil _ ?”

“Lady Trevelyan,” the commander’s voice said in her ear. Evie ignored him.

“How many mages, Damien? How many did you fuck and then betray?” she shouted. Damien whimpered on the ground with his arms curled protectively around his head. Evie pulled back a fireball.

“Lady Trevelyan, you’re in public,” the commander said.

“I don’t care,” Evie hissed, letting all of her anger, all of the pain at spending two years in solitary confinement because of a man she’d thought loved her, pool into her fists in flames.

“Evelyn,” the commander said, and Evie froze. He’d never called her anything besides Lady Trevelyan.

“What?” she snapped.

“You’re in public, and the Inquisitor’s sister can’t roast in armour anyone who tries to join the Inquisition,” the commander said.

“Do you know what he did?” Evie demanded, and realised to her horror she was so angry she was starting to cry. “He convinced me he loved me, so I would sleep with him, and then that we would run away together, and he got me thrown in solitary confinement for two  _ years _ !”

“I said I thought they were going to make you tranquil! Then you wouldn’t have cared!” Damien shouted.

Even though Evie’s feet weren’t on the ground and the commander had pulled her far enough away from Damien that her kicks couldn’t reach him, she swung anyway.

“Evelyn, he will not be joining the Inquisition, but you cannot execute him in public,” the commander said in a remarkably un-strained tone of voice for someone holding a struggling woman half a foot off the ground while she generated magical fire in her hands. “I’m going to put you down, and you’re going to go find Dorian, and I will deal with this. Are we clear?”

“Crystal, Commander,” Evie managed to grit out through clenched teeth. She managed to let the fire dissipate without roasting Damien alive in his plate armour, but realised as she did that even though she was somewhat unwillingly in the arms of a templar,  _ she  _ was the one controlling the fire. The commander hadn’t attempted to dispel her magic.

He lowered her to the ground, and Evie stomped away, taking care to step on Damien and spit at him before she rounded the corner of the tavern. She stopped as soon as she was out of sight.

“Maker’s ass, who let a crazy bitch like that join the Inquisition?” Damien asked.

“You know something unfortunate, Knight-Sergeant?” the commander replied. “I do remember you from Kirkwall. And I remember asking Knight-Commander Meredith to bar you from the Order.”

“You – what?” Damien asked. There was a sound like clanking armour followed by a strangled inhalation and Evie liked to think it was the commander grabbing Damien by the throat.

“And if you ever call Evelyn Trevelyan anything, ever again, I won’t stop her from burning you to death,” the commander said. “If you’re still in the castle by reveille I will even tell her where to find you.”

Evie didn’t have time to make herself scarce before the commander came around the corner. He looked slightly embarrassed but unsurprised to see her lurking in the shadows.

“Thanks,” Evie said. “For banishing him.”

The commander nodded, once. “Seventeen,” he said, which seemed almost like a non-sequitur until Evie figured out what he was referring to. And then she felt sick. “I didn’t end it as soon as I should have because I had been ordered not to, and for too long I put more stock in following orders than I did in protecting the mages in my charge.”

Evie wanted to hate him for it. She wanted to, but she could actually see the remorse in his eyes.

“You’re sure I have to wait until reveille to burn him?” she asked.

The corner of Cullen’s mouth, closest to his scar, twitched. “It would look very bad and Josephine would certainly reprimand us both within an inch of our lives. But I’m certain that if you happen to come upon him somewhere aside from the castle, no one would believe he wasn’t a red templar.”

Evie managed to almost smile. “I’m going to go make Dorian get drunk with me.”

“Please don’t burn the tavern down,” he requested.

Evie started to leave, and then paused. “Would you – would you want to join us?”

“I should go back to work,” he said. “But thank you. Evelyn.”

He said her name like he was trying it on for size and also waiting for her to snap at him for it and possibly punch him.

“Some other time then. Cullen,” she said, and she turned and left him in the courtyard, both of them very confused about what had just happened.

* * *

* * *

Journeying between Skyhold and Haven went faster with just the eight of them, rather than a caravan comprised of the entire Inquisition. It only took them a day and a half, a single night of camping, and then they were back in Haven. Or what was left of it.

“Maker’s blood,” Krem breathed, looking out across the snowy tundra that had been their home for months.

Ella was the first off her horse, leading Shiral to what was left of the old stables and armoury. She imagined he recognised it, since he hid his face between her shoulder blades and knickered uneasily.

“I guess when the boss said he was going to drop an avalanche, he really meant it,” Bull said, dismounting and landing heavily in the snow next to the tent that had been his.

Some of the cabins still stood above the snowline, but not by much. At best there were roofs that poked precariously through snowdrifts. The chantry stood slightly higher, but only the very barest bits of the defences were still visible.

“How many people do you suppose…” Ella asked, looking around the devastation and pulling her fur-lined hood tighter around her face. There was some sort of magic on Skyhold that made it warmer than Haven. She didn’t know how, and all of the mages insisted there wasn’t really magic at work, just the environment, but Ella didn’t entirely believe them.

“I don’t know,” Bull replied. He’d even deigned to put on a shirt, which Ella found distasteful, but she wasn’t going to comment since it was well below freezing around them.

“Should we try to – to excavate anyone who fell?” Krem asked, pulling a hat lower over his ears. Human hats wouldn’t cover the entirety of Ella’s ears, so she’d had to go with a hooded cloak.

“I don’t think there’s any way for us to truly find everyone,” Bull said, clapping a hand on Krem’s shoulder. “It’s a nice thought, but we’ll have to come back in summer for that.”

Krem swallowed, and nodded.

“We can still get into the houses,” Ella said. “Recover any keepsakes people might still want.”

“Good thinking,” Bull replied. “Everyone pair up.”

Rocky and Grim headed towards the soldiers’ tents. Dalish and Stitches headed over to the apothecary’s former station. Krem and Skinner started for the chantry, leaving Ella and Bull with the personal quarters on the north side of the village. Ella’s cabin had been on the north side.

“You don’t like me,” Ella said softly as they dug through the snow enough to excavate an eave of the cabin that had belonged to Max. Ella didn’t know who it had belonged to beforehand. Perhaps someone who had died in the Conclave.

“What?” Bull asked. He sounded like he genuinely hadn’t heard her.

“It’s fine, no one ever did before I found Evie and Dorian, don’t worry about it,” Ella assured him. She was used to being around people who didn’t like her, or thought she was weird. But she’d liked Bull better when she hadn’t thought he was just being polite. Although she didn’t think Qunari were renowned for their politeness.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Bull said. They finished digging out the eave of Max’s cabin and he gestured for her to move back before hacking the edge of the roof off with his axe. The hole was big enough that Ella could climb through it and search the cabin for anything useful or maybe even sentimental.

“It’s really fine,” Ella said, holding the edge of the gap and swinging her legs down before dropping to the floor of the cabin. Max’s had been mostly undamaged. The fire had been minimal, and most of the interior was intact. She didn’t know how obsolete the reports were on his desk, but she rolled them up and packaged them anyway, along with the remains of a bottle of Antivan brandy.

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bull said while she scaled the wall and returned to the snowy surface of Haven.

“That you don’t like me,” Ella said, picking her footing carefully over to the cabin that had been hers and Evie’s. Bull sank a good half-foot into the snow with every step.

“See, now I know what you’re talking about except that I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Bull replied. “Who said I don’t like you?”

Ella shrugged. “I figured that was why you’re so insistent that I’m not part of the Chargers, even if Krem is trying to adopt me.”

“Aren’t you older than him?” Bull asked.

“Yeah, but I think he gets concerned,” Ella replied.

Bull shrugged in agreement and hacked part of the roof off Ella and Evie’s old cabin.

“I do like you, by the way,” Bull said, prying up the boards that had refused to come off with the axe. “You’re weird, but I like that in a person.”

“I’m weird?” Ella asked, jumping down into the cabin. She froze. She’d spent a lot of time in this cabin, with her first ever friend. With Fenlen, who was being supervised back in Skyhold by Evie and Leliana.

“You have a pet nug and purple eyes, Violet,” Bull replied. “Also I’ve never seen you actually hit something you were aiming for, but you still manage to kill whatever it was you were trying to kill. I’d call that weird.”

Ella flushed and started searching for things she and Evie had left behind. They hadn’t really had time to pack before fleeing Haven, but Ella had just returned from Therinfal Redoubt when they were attacked so most of her things were back at Skyhold now. Evie had left behind a locket that Ella found buried under the ruins of one of their beds, as well as a comb inlaid with pearl. Ella put both items in her pocket and started to climb back out of the cabin.  

“Then why can’t I join the Chargers?” she asked, searching the top of the wall for a handhold and not finding one. She frowned at it.

Bull shrugged. “Don’t want to have to deal with a new liaison,” he said.

“Oh,” Ella replied. “Help?”

Bull reached a hand down into the cabin and Ella grabbed it. It didn’t strain him at all to hoist her out of the cabin, and Ella gawped a bit at his curled bicep, which was roughly the size of her head.

“Also, you do that,” Bull said, setting her on her feet in the snow.

“Do what?” Ella asked, pulling her hood tighter around her ears.

“Check me out,” Bull said, and Ella’s face burned red.

“I didn’t – I didn’t realise that was obvious,” she said, skittering across the snow to the next house.

“And I mean, I’m fine with the guys under my command staring at my ass. I do have a lot to go around,” Bull continued, hacking into the roof. Ella was a little shocked her blush hadn’t started melting the snow. “But it feels a little fucked up if I’m the one doing the staring.”

Ella blinked, and he shouldered his axe.

“You stare at my ass?” she asked, and dropped into the mostly ruined cabin before he could respond.

There was almost nothing to recover there, aside from a pair of earrings. She pocketed them and headed back to the gap. Bull had already reached a hand down to pull her out.

“I kinda thought that was obvious,” he said, setting her on the snow.

“No,” Ella said.

“See, I thought we were both being obvious, and you wanted to ride the bull,” he replied. Ella stared at him for a second and then burst out into helpless giggles. It felt wrong, to laugh in the remains of Haven where so many people they knew had died, but she couldn’t help it.

“’Ride the bull’?” she repeated, giggling so hard she snorted.

“What?” Bull asked, which just made Ella giggle harder.

She made the mistake of glancing at his face and looking at his confused expression, because it made her double over laughing.

“Alright over there, Chief?” Krem called.

“We’re fine!” Bull replied, and then said, quieter, “I think.”

Ella managed to control her laughter long enough to take a deep breath and clear her throat. She straightened up and did absolutely everything she could not to burst into giggles again.

“And if I did?” she asked.

“If you did what?” Bull replied.

“Want to--” She tried and failed to suppress the giggles, and then straightened up again. “Have sex with you.”

“Then my door is always open,” Bull said.

Ella nodded, and tried not to start giggling again. It was about to be a losing battle when the snow crunched behind them. Ella assumed it was going to be one of the Chargers coming to see why she wouldn’t stop laughing at their chief, but it was not.

The woman standing there had pulled her heavy, fur-lined hood over her face much the same way Ella had, except it covered her eyes. Tendrils of long, blood-red hair fell out of it and spilled across her armour like a battle stain. Her blue and grey armour glinted in the weak sunlight, and the staff strapped to her back glimmered ominously.

“It’s not polite to loot from the dead,” the woman said. Her voice was sweet like mead. Ella blinked.

“We’re not looters,” Bull replied.

“Oh?” the woman said. “Then what are you? Mercenaries?”

“Inquisition,” Ella said. Something about the woman – maybe the fact she’d appeared silently or the fact Ella couldn’t see her face – made Ella want to duck behind Bull and hide.

“Ah,” the woman said. Her mellifluous voice was intoxicating, the kind of voice that could make anyone do anything, whether they wanted to or not. It made Ella’s ears hurt just a little. “What happened to Haven? I understood it to be where the Inquisition was based.”

“Were you looking for the Inquisition?” Bull asked.

“I was,” the woman said. “What did happen here?”

“Avalanche,” Bull replied gruffly. He didn’t really like mages he didn’t know, Ella remembered. He was fine with Dalish, and with Evie, and Dorian, and she assumed Vivienne and Solas to an extent, but apparently not strange ones who appeared from nowhere looking for the Inquisition.

“Pity,” the woman said. She spun her hand and an eddy of snow leapt into it, the crystals dancing in a column above her palm for a moment before showering down. “I thought we should’ve buried this place ten years ago. That might have prevented all of this.”

“Yeah, uh, who the hell are you?” Bull asked, crossing his arms and flexing. Ella only realised then that she’d subconsciously edged sideways so she was almost entirely hidden from view.

“Didn’t I say?” the woman asked, and she pushed back her hood. Her face was as sweet as her voice, her cheeks perfectly soft and rosy with a mouth to match, and the bluest eyes Ella had ever seen anywhere besides a mirror. But the reason for the hood was immediately clear. A delicate gold circlet ran across the top of her brow before disappearing into her red hair. “Solona Amell, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. And also, to some, its queen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So if you are still reading this, please do let me know. It provides inspiration for writing better than replaying Inquisition, which I shouldn't be doing anyway since I'm, y'know, in grad school and skiving on my school work to play it for inspiration for this story. So uh, anyway. Especially if it's to be annoyed with me about Fereldan law concerning mages, the Hero of Ferelden, and/or Max and Hawke hooking up.


	15. A Royal Reception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Royalty visits the Inquisition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys get the chapter a day early because I'm having research trouble. Namely that I spent yesterday getting acquainted with a family tree from _one_ source, only to have a different source _blatantly_ contradict it, and I'm honestly not sure which is the more reliable source, but like it's not even a question of "oh yeah that's the same person, just with a different transliteration of her name from Occitan," it's "One of these women is Beatrice of Beziers, the sister of Roger Trencavel, and the other is Matilda, daughter of the King of Sicily, and while it is entirely plausible that they both became Cathars and - frankly - were both married to Raymond VI of Toulouse, it is entirely impossible that they were both, somehow, his second wife." So...you get a chapter a day early. 
> 
> And serious thanks to everyone who commented on last chapter! You guys make my day.

Skyhold was buzzing like Sera had filled it with bees, and Dorian couldn’t figure out why. He and Evie were mostly busy helping organise the mages, who were the most quarrelsome bunch of people Dorian had ever encountered outside of the magisterium chambers in Minrathous, but everyone else in the castle seemed to be transported in fits of tizzy.

“What is going on?” Dorian asked while he and Evie watched a fleet of porters roll out new carpets in the centre of the great hall, and were promptly shuffled aside so new tables could be brought it. “I don’t suppose this is what Josephine sent dearest Vivienne off to do?”

“Oh, Andraste’s tits, probably,” Evie said, dodging out of the way of a candelabra that appeared to be moving under its own volition.

“They banished me from the stables,” Blackwall said, joining the three of them in their vigil and folding his arms. Gatsi was pulling apart the scaffolding near the fireplace Dorian had come to think of as Varric’s.

“What? Why?” Evie asked.

“Something about making it presentable, not a workshop,” Blackwall said.

“Oh dear me, are they going to make you sleep in actual quarters?” Dorian asked. He paused. “We don’t share a wall, do we?”

“No, we don’t,” Blackwall said.

Dorian breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure he could deal with hearing Blackwall’s snoring again.

“I have been informed I must move my desk against the wall of the rotunda to clear space,” Solas said, joining the three of them and looking distinctly perturbed.

“For what?” Evie asked.

“I was not told,” Solas replied.

“The first presentation to royalty. What if the Inquisition isn’t up to par? But it’s only the king of Ferelden, surely it will be fine but what if it’s the queen, must work, must be perfect, must make everything exact.”

All four of them flinched – even Solas, Dorian was pleased to note – and turned to see Cole standing just behind them, holding his funny little hat in his hands.

“Cole?” Evie asked. “Whose thoughts were those?”

“They started scrubbing my floor,” Cole said, looking between the four of them like they might be able to make sense of his problem. “The maid was so nervous, so excited, the Hero of Ferelden in our tavern, too much like Denerim all over again, what if it’s blood like last time, what if--”

Evie placed a hand on his shoulder and he stopped talking.

“I don’t suppose the five of you know what’s going on,” Cullen said, joining them in their corner while yet more porters carried nicer chairs into the hall. It was pleasant to look at, at least. Or it would be when they were done, Dorian decided. But there was a certain frenzy to everyone’s actions that made it rather uncomfortable to witness.

“Do you not?” Blackwall asked.

“Not a clue,” Cullen replied. “Has the Inquisitor returned from Crestwood?”

Dorian’s stomach twisted and he did his level best to ignore it.

“No,” Evie said. “They should be back soon, though, I think.”

Cullen nodded slowly, and then they were all shooed from the hall and into the garden by an angry florist wielding a pair of shears and a clamshell vase full of frangipani.

“How do you even get frangipani this far south during Firstfall?” Dorian demanded.

The others looked as confused as he felt, although he was somewhat sure this was partly due to Cullen, Blackwall, and Cole not actually knowing what frangipani was.

“A game of chess while we sit banished, Commander?” Dorian suggested.

“I suppose,” Cullen replied, and let Dorian lead the way to the chessboard. Mother Giselle walked by, paused to glare at Dorian, and then headed back towards the chantry. Dorian glowered after her.

“I’m going to go check on the tower,” Evie said with a dramatic sigh.

“I think I shall accompany you,” Solas said. “I wish to see the kind of studies being undertaken.”

The two of them left, and Blackwall offered to teach Cole some better blocking techniques in the courtyard, leaving Dorian alone with the commander.

“Mother Giselle doesn’t like you,” Cullen observed.

“She disapproves of my existence,” Dorian said. “She seems to think that my being here, a Tevinter in the Inquisition, is as wrong as, say, a templar caring for a mage.”

Cullen frowned, and moved a chess piece.

“I’m interested in a mage,” he said, seemingly without meaning to. Dorian smirked while his brows shot up and he lifted his head to stare at Dorian imploringly. “I mean I  _ have been  _ interested in a mage. In the past. The distant past.”

“Of course, Commander,” Dorian said. “I would never presume such a thing to be true now.”

Cullen narrowed his eyes. “You’re mocking me somehow, and I don’t know how.”

“Knowing is half the battle,” Dorian said cheerfully.

Cullen kept his eyes narrowed and seemed to decide that the best solution for Dorian’s mockery was to trounce him at chess, which Dorian did not appreciate.

The Inquisitor and his party returned to Skyhold before night fell. Almost as soon as they set foot within the castle walls, Josephine summoned every member of the inner circle to the war room and closed the door. It seemed they were about to get the explanation for the castle’s behaviour of the past few days.

“First off, Inquisitor, how did you find Crestwood?” Josephine asked.

“It was a horrid place, really,” Max said. “Undead, rain, the mayor committing mass murder during the Blight – Leliana could your people track him down? – a fade rift under a lake. Oh, and we also claimed a keep for the Inquisition and might have fought a dragon.”

“I’m sorry, you  _ what _ ?” Evie demanded.

“There was a dragon tormenting the people of Crestwood,” Cassandra said, seemingly abundantly aware of everyone looking at her. “It was…dealt with.”

“You fought a  _ dragon _ ,” Dorian repeated.

“Most fun I’ve had in years,” the Grey Warden they’d acquired piped up, looking far too pleased about it.

“Everyone, my brother Carver,” Hawke said, gesturing at him. “Carver, everyone.”

“You’re not going to introduce me properly?” Carver asked, and Dorian absolutely did not imagine the way his eyes lingered on Evie.

“You can introduce yourself when we’re not being lectured,” Hawke said. Max snorted.

“Yeah, about that,” Max said. “Why is everyone here, Josephine?”

“Because we are about to have a guest,” Josephine said, straightening a set of papers that were already perfectly neat. “The King of Ferelden is coming to the Inquisition.”

“Ali-bear is coming here?” Hawke asked, raising his eyebrows.

Josephine gasped and pressed a hand to hear heart like she’d been stricken with palpitations. Dorian was a little concerned she was going to swoon.

Leliana, on the other hand, was trying very hard not to snicker visibly. Cullen looked faintly ill.

“This visit is the closest we will have to practice for Halamshiral and the ball at the Winter Palace where we will be heading at the beginning of Wintermarch,” Josephine said. “I cannot present you to the Empress in your current state, as I cannot even present you to the King of Ferelden as it stands.”

“That hurts a little, Josie,” Max said. He was in almost indecently chipper spirits, and Dorian hated it. Except that he didn’t. He wanted Max to be happy, if Dorian wasn’t to be permitted to make him that way himself. Except that he didn’t want that, he wanted Max to be miserable without him – which was all absurd as they had never even been together.

“You will all be sleeping in your assigned quarters,” Josephine said, ignoring Max completely. “You will not stay out in the tavern until indecent hours of the morning--”

“I live there!” Sera protested.

“Would you rather we drink in the great hall until ‘indecent hours’?” Varric asked.

Josephine levelled him with a glare that reminded Dorian so absolutely of his mother that he quailed. Varric clearly felt it too, because he winced, and fell silent.

“You will all be present to receive the king tomorrow evening, in your Inquisition livery,” Josephine continued. “Which you will find in your quarters. And yes, Sera, yours will be delivered to your room in the tavern.”

Sera put her hand down and shrank back.

“When dining with the king, you will use your best table manners. Everyone except the Inquisitor must defer to him as their superior, and under no circumstances will any one of you call him ‘Ali-bear’,” Josephine continued. “There will be no idleness, no tomfoolery, no semi-nude sparring in the courtyard, and you will make this Inquisition look professional, or so help me Andraste.”

Everyone blinked at her, and avoided each other’s eyes, except for Varric, who lifted a hand.

“Yes, Varric?” Josephine asked.

“Yeah, who’s sparring semi-naked in the courtyard, and can I sell tickets?” he asked.

Josephine snarled at him while Cullen quickly became interested in the map of Thedas on the table and Evie tried to sink into the floor. Dorian raised an eyebrow. He’d never watched them spar, but if the commander was taking his shirt off to do it – which was what Dorian assumed was happening, since Evie wasn’t the sort to disrobe in public – he might have to start.

“Any other questions?” Josephine asked.

“Ruffles, have you ever actually met the King of Ferelden?” Hawke asked, and Dorian could’ve sworn Josephine saw red. But because it was Josephine, she simply gave Varric a disapproving look before turning back to Hawke.

“No, I have not, but that is beside the point,” she said.

“Ruffles, I promise, we’ve got this one,” Varric assured her. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“Yeah, Bull is still in Haven, so it’s not like he can cause you disgrace,” Max said.

Josephine smiled coldly at him. “Oh, no, Inquisitor,” she said. “Anything that goes wrong will cause  _ you  _ disgrace when we have to try and fit in at the Orlesian court.”

Max grimaced. “Right,” he said.

“And all of you need a haircut,” Josephine added. Dorian gaped at her. “Except Dorian.”

“ _ Thank  _ you,” Dorian said, as he’d been prepared to be offended beyond belief.

“You can help dole them out,” Josephine said. “I don’t want to see any uneven fringes--” Sera stuck her tongue out. “—or ill-kempt facial hair.” Blackwall flushed and looked down.

“What about well-groomed beards?” Hawke asked.

“You’re fine as long as you trim your hair,” Josephine said. “Varric, you will button your uniform shirt for the reception.”

Varric gave her a hurt look.

“And if the Iron Bull manages to return in time for the reception, he will be wearing a shirt the entire time,” Josephine added. “Solas, you will wear shoes.”

Solas’s face turned to a mask of distaste.

“And if you could all go an entire three days without insulting the King, I would appreciate it beyond belief,” Josephine said. “I try to avoid bribery, but should we survive this visit without major incident, when we are in Orlais, the Inquisition will bankroll an exhibition to the Chocolate Emporium.”

“Can’t we go anyway even if we fuck up?” Evie asked.

Josephine gave all of them an annoyed look. “Should we survive this without major incident, I will have the proprietors of the Chocolate Emporium set up an outpost in the dining hall beside the kitchens, permanently.”

“So if we behave, we get access to Thedas’s best chocolate at all times?” Max clarified.

“Hang on, isn’t the staircase to the dining hall just off your office?” Sera asked.

“You are all dismissed! Go get your hair cut!” Josephine said, pointing them out of the war room.

They shuffled out, all somewhat chastened.

“As if we, rational adults all, can be bribed by chocolate,” Dorian huffed.

“Dorian, if you ruin my chocolate for me, just remember I know where you sleep,” Cassandra said.

Dorian gasped. “Seeker Pentaghast! I am the  _ least  _ likely person to ruin the chocolate!”

“That’s--” Blackwall started to protest, and then re-evaluated. “—probably true.”

“Go trim your beard,” Dorian replied while they all filed into the garden and started for their respective quarters. Dorian didn’t know where Max was going since his quarters were the other direction.

“Erm, I know this is a bit awkward to ask, but does anyone know where I’m supposed to sleep?” Max piped up.

“Yeah, same here, actually,” Varric said. “Quarters were doled out while all of us were in Crestwood.”

“You seem like you know where things are,” Carver Hawke said, turning a charming smile on Evie. “I don’t suppose you’d be able to help a lost Grey Warden, Lady…”

“Trevelyan,” Evie said, smiling back at him. “Evelyn Trevelyan. I think the guest quarters are just over on this side of the garden. I’d be happy to show you.”

Carver offered Evie his arm, and as they crossed the garden, Evie laughed the sort of laugh often inspired by tall, handsome men. Hawke, Max, and Varric stared after them in varying levels of concern and disgust.

“Not a chance in hell that ends well,” Varric said.

“I give it until Evelyn finds out he used to want to be a templar,” Hawke said. “So guest rooms, all over there?”

“Yes,” Solas said. “And I can direct Cassandra and Varric to your rooms as well, if you wish.”

“Thanks Chuckles, you’re a pal,” Varric replied, following him off.

“And which one’s mine?” Max asked. “I was still sleeping in tents when we left.”

“It’s back inside,” Dorian said, and Max startled like he’d been trying to forget Dorian was there and didn’t care for the reminder. “They spent an awful lot of time fixing it up.”

“Oh,” Max said, managing to smile at him regardless. But his oh-so-enchanting eyes were sad. “I don’t suppose you could point me in that direction?”

“Of course,” Dorian said, opening the door back into the main hall and leading the way to the Inquisitor’s quarters. “Did you really slay a dragon?”

“Yeah,” Max said, looking more genuinely cheerful at the reminder. “It kept spitting lightning at us. Varric accused it of taking a leaf out of your book.”

“So long as he doesn’t start accusing me of taking leaves out of the dragon’s,” Dorian replied.

“You’re much cleverer than any dragon,” Max said.

Dorian’s heart ached, but he stopped at the door to the tower. “Your room’s just at the top.”

“Come have a drink with me,” Max said. Dorian’s heart ached even more. “We are still allowed to be friends, aren’t we? Or are we not allowed to interact?”

“Max, I would love nothing more than to have a drink with you,” Dorian said. “But I--”

“Young man, I do believe your quarters are off the garden, are they not?” Mother Giselle crowed from behind him, and Dorian closed his eyes to beg for patience from any higher power listening. Perhaps Andraste would listen, as he was standing before her Herald.

“I believe any drinks we share must be supervised,” Dorian finished.

Max looked from him to a spot somewhere over his shoulder that Dorian assumed was the Revered Mother. “Wait, is Mother Giselle the reason you--”

“Goodnight, Max,” Dorian said. “I’m glad you’re back safely from Crestwood.”

Max started to call after him, but Dorian kept walking back to his room. It was better for everyone that way.

* * *

* * *

Evie frowned at the Inquisition uniform. Red looked dreadful with her hair. The only colour in it that wouldn’t clash with her general colouring was the gold braid accents. She couldn’t even wear that particular shade of blue and still think she looked nice.

Especially after Josephine collected her, Sera, and Cassandra into her quarters and made them sit while she instructed a hairdresser to fix them. Sera squirmed and writhed like a small child covered in mud that had been told it must bathe.

“You’re not making Leliana cut her hair,” Evie grumbled as the hairdresser trimmed half a foot of broken ends off Evie’s hair and then started to plait it. Ella still hadn’t returned from scouting Haven, and Evie missed her desperately.

“I imagine out of fear,” Cassandra said.

“Oh my dears, what a lovely party!”

Evie groaned and tried to vanish from her seat. The hairdresser wouldn’t let her, even though Vivienne was waltzing into the room, somehow managing to make the Inquisition uniform look fashionable.

“Evelyn, darling, I see they’re fixing your tragic hair,” Vivienne said.

Evie wished desperately that it had been Ella who returned just then, rather than Vivienne. She would’ve taken Fiona walking in and commenting on her appearance a hundred times over before she’d take Vivienne.

“Ah, Madame de Fer, I see you got my note about the uniforms,” Josephine said. “It looks quite fetching on you.”

“She’s the only person who could ever look good in ‘em,” Sera said. “Ella’d probably be fine, but she was smart and ran away.”

“Mistress Lavellan did not run away, she is simply on an assignment with the Chargers,” Josephine said. She straightened her own uniform in the mirror and then looked slightly concerned. “They’re not that bad, are they?”

“You know the Satinalia plays they do with the Anderfels’ nut thingies?” Sera asked.

Josephine looked stricken. “We simply have to make it through the week,” she said. Evie didn’t think she was actually talking to them, rather to herself. “Just the week, and we’ll be fine.”

“Josephine, darling,” Vivienne said. “Everything will go perfectly splendid.”

Vivienne’s reassurances had little effect on Josephine’s visible nerves while she shuffled them all into the great hall to await the arrival of his majesty. In addition to the inner circle clad in their uniforms, the lead scouts and heads of every battalion were present, along with the Fereldan and Orlesian nobles who tended to loiter in Skyhold, and the head of the mage leadership. Fiona looked even more nervous than Josephine, which Evie thought was impressive until she remembered the one time she’d met King Alistair. Fiona had been present and in deep shit.

Fiona had also not tried to have Evie killed in the Conclave. Although now wasn’t the time, Evie resolved to try and make peace with her in the immediate future.

“Everyone look proper,” Josephine instructed through a forced smile as fanfare started outside the front doors. Then they burst open, and a column of guards preceded the king into the hall. Evie hadn’t been paying particular attention the last time, but now that she was, she couldn’t help but notice the king was quite good looking.

He dusted the snow off his own cloak instead of letting one of his stewards do it for him, and then strode down the length of the great hall. He stopped in front of Max.

“My lord Inquisitor,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you again under less trying circumstances.”

“You as well, your majesty,” Max replied. “Welcome to Skyhold. The Inquisition is delighted to have you for as long as you’d like to stay.”

Evie glanced at Josephine in time to see her carefully pinned smile flicker in dismay. Evie carefully avoided making eye contact with anyone lest she snicker.

“That’s very gracious of you,” King Alistair replied.

“Please, meet my advisors,” Max said, stepping down to the king’s side, and gesturing at the three of them. “My ambassador and advisor on all political and diplomatic matters, Lady Josephine Montilyet of Antiva.”

“A pleasure to meet you in person, my lady,” the king said, bowing his head and brushing Josephine’s hand with a slight kiss. Evie wracked her brain to try and remember if the King of Ferelden also possessed a queen.

“The commander of my forces, Ser Cullen Rutherford,” Max continued.

Something flickered in both Cullen and the king’s eyes that Evie couldn’t begin to fathom. The only thing she could determine was a certain level of familiarity.

“Cullen,” the king said, in a tone that edged towards the strained side of polite.

“Your majesty,” Cullen replied, grimly shaking the king’s hand.

“And my seneschal,” Max continued. Evie assumed he sensed the discomfort between Cullen and King Alistair as well. If Evie could spot it from where she was standing with the mages, it had to be nearly unbearable up close. “Sister Leliana, the former Left Hand of the Divine.”

“Sister Leliana,” the king said, and any discomfort between him and Cullen vanished as the king tried not to smile.

“It’s good to see you, Ali-bear,” Leliana replied. There was a beat of silence in which Josephine turned, slowly, to stare at Leliana with the most pronounced look of betrayal Evie had ever seen in a person’s eyes.

But suddenly the king was laughing, and Leliana was  _ hugging  _ him, and Josephine looked like her world had just ended.

“It’s been too long,” Leliana said, letting go of the king and stepping back.

“Absolutely,” King Alistair said.

“You should know, we’ve taken control of one of your keeps,” Leliana said.

The king sighed dramatically. “Which one?”

“Caer Bronach, in Crestwood,” Max supplied. He, too, looked slightly wrong-footed by Leliana and the king’s familiarity, but was holding it together better than Josephine.

“Oh, weren’t they having issues with the undead? I’ve been trying to get a detachment together to deal with that for ages,” the king said.

“I took care of it, your majesty,” Max said. “The undead were being caused by a fade rift in the bottom of the lake, so you would’ve needed to call upon me anyway.”

“Good man,” the king said. “Do introduce me to the rest of your Inquisition. We didn’t get a chance to speak at Redcliffe.”

“Of course,” Max said. He led the king to the far side of the group. “This is Ser Varric Tethras, of Kirkwall. I believe you know each other?”

“We’ve met,” the king agreed. “How are you, Varric?”

“Weird shit’s happening around here, your majesty,” Varric said. “Weirder than Kirkwall. Maybe it’ll make a good book someday.”

“I’m sure,” the king said.

“And this is, erm, Sera,” Max said. Sera stopped picking at the fringes of her uniform long enough to wave slightly at the king, and then went back to picking. “And, ah, Cole.”

“She’s missing. I don’t know how to sleep without her there. The nightmares scream in my head and the dog cries. I miss camping in the--” Cole started.

“Stuff it, Creepy,” Sera said, elbowing him.

The king blinked at Cole, and at Sera, and then nodded at both of them somewhat awkwardly.

“Erm, sorry about that,” Max said. “This is Cassandra Pentaghast, former Right Hand of the Divine, and Seeker of Truth.”

“It is an honour to meet you, your majesty,” Cassandra said, shaking the king’s hand brusquely and then glaring back at Cole.

“And Warden Gordon Blackwall,” Max said.

“Blackwall,” the king repeated, shaking his hand. “My mentor Duncan spoke of you.”

“Duncan,” Blackwall said. “He was a good man. Sorry to hear about his passing.”

The king nodded in thanks.

“And another Grey Warden, Carver Hawke,” Max said. “He’s on loan.”

“Carver,” the king said, shaking his hand.

“Alistair,” Carver replied with a quick nod. Josephine looked to be on the point of collapse.

“And the Inquisition’s most prominent mages,” Max continued, leading the king over to their group. “My sister, Lady Evelyn Trevelyan, previous leader of the Free Marches rebellion.”

“It’s an honour to meet you, your majesty,” Evie said, taking the king’s hand and resolutely not flushing when he kissed it.

“I believe we met in Redcliffe,” the king said. “It’s nice to meet you under better circumstances.”

“Likewise,” Evie said, charmed whether she wanted to be or not.

“Dorian Pavus, recently of Minrathous,” Max continued, pulling the king away from her. “He’s an invaluable asset to the Inquisition’s magical resources.”

“Your majesty,” Dorian said, bowing low. He certainly wasn’t going to risk being accused of costing them their chocolate fountain, Evie decided. Leliana had firmly sealed that particular fate.

“Madame Vivienne de Fer, former Court Enchanter to the Empress of Orlais,” Max continued, and Evie tried not to be smug about being introduced two whole people before Vivienne.

“Your majesty,” Vivienne said with the disinterest only an Orlesian could show in Fereldan royalty. Not that Vivienne was technically Orlesian, but she was Orlesian in spirit.

“Solas, one of the Inquisition’s most knowledgeable magi scholars,” Max said. Solas said nothing, but bowed slightly to the king. “And Ser Garrett Hawke, best known as the Champion of Kirkwall, also currently on loan to the Inquisition.”

“Hawke,” the king acknowledged.

“Ali-bear,” Hawk replied, and the king snorted.

“Leliana, do you remember who actually started that?” the king called. Josephine looked faint, or perhaps like her spirit had been called to Andraste for safe-keeping while she lived through this event.

“I don’t,” Leliana said, looking pensive. “Perhaps it was Zevran?”

The king looked like he was going to respond, but the doors opened again, sending a gust of snow into the hall. Evie caught sight of Bull’s horns well above everyone else, and wondered if Josephine was going to faint dead away before any of them could help her.

“What a wonderful coincidence to find you here, my love,” a woman called from the doorway. Evie tore her gaze down from Bull’s horns, and stopped seeking out Ella in the crowd of the Chargers, and instead focused on the woman in front, whose voice was liquid honey. Her hair was the colour of blood, but that was the only thing Evie could identify about her.

King Alistair’s response was immediate. He turned on the spot and just about ran down the hall to her, before sweeping her up into so tight an embrace that they spun around before he set her back on her feet and dipped her into a passionate kiss.

“Well shit, how come no one ever greets me like that?” Bull asked.

“No one can pick you up, Chief,” Krem replied.

The king and – Evie assumed – queen didn’t pay them any attention as they were now standing in the middle of the hall completely oblivious to anyone else’s presence, their foreheads pressed together while they spoke in soft voices. Josephine, on the other hand, let out a shrill peal of laughter and sank into Max’s throne, no longer able to cope. The only person who looked less happy about all this than even Josephine was, to Evie’s disbelief, Cullen. He’d gone very pale and alternated between scanning every exit to the great hall and staring, transfixed, at the king and queen.

“This calls for celebration!” King Alistair declared, pausing in the middle to brush his wife’s hair away from her face and kiss her on the forehead. At no point did she stop being tucked under his arm. “I’m sure it’s too late to stage a banquet but--”

“Actually, your majesty, Ambassador Montilyet is such an excellent event planner, we were prepared for every eventuality, even a banquet,” Max said. Evie thought it was a nice touch to help the somewhat demoralised Josephine.

“Yes!” Josephine exclaimed, pulling herself back together with miraculous speed. “The stewards shall bring the banquet immediately, for you and your, erm…”

“Warden-Commander Solona Amell,” Alistair said. “Councillor and magical advisor to the Fereldan throne, better known as the Hero of Ferelden.”

Evie’s jaw went slack. She’d corresponded with Solona Amell before, years before, to ask about Arcane Warriors. At no point had it occurred to her that Solona Amell, Arlessa of Amaranthine, Warden-Commander of Ferelden, Solona Amell the Kingmaker, was also the king’s…

Well she couldn’t be his wife, could she? Evie realised. She was a mage.

The stewards worked quickly, shuffling everyone into seats and bringing up plate after plate of food. Evie found herself at the head table along with Max, the king, Solona Amell, the advisors, Cassandra, Fiona, and the Hawke brothers. When she wasn’t busy watching Cullen’s stony expression for signs of returning life, she kept glancing at the table where Dorian and Ella were sitting with Varric, all three of them watching the head table with rapt attention and gossiping to each other.

“It’s been far too long, my friend,” Leliana said, squeezing Solona into a hug while they sat next to each other. “When we could not contact you for the Conclave, I feared the worst.”

“It’s going to take more than the Calling to kill me,” Solona replied in her amazingly sweet voice. “Promise.”

“Evelyn, have you met my cousin before?” Hawke asked, drawing Solona’s attention.

“No, but we’ve corresponded,” Evie said, smiling down the table at Solona. “Evelyn Trevelyan, of the Ostwick Circle. Once.”

“Oh, yes about Arcane Warriors,” Solona said. Her hair was nearly the same colour as their Inquisition uniforms, and her eyes the perfect shade of blue to match. Evie struggled to feel less unkempt. “The paper you wrote was fascinating.”

“Thank you,” Evie said, unsure what honorific she was supposed to add.

“I admit, I’m a bit behind on my scholarship, though,” Solona said.

“You’ve been busy,” Alistair replied. He hadn’t stopped touching her in some small way since she arrived. At that moment, his hand was curled around hers on top of the table. Evie had so many questions.

Their meal was interrupted moments later by a soldier striding up to the table and whispering something to Cullen.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Cullen said, standing and avoiding everyone’s eye except Max’s. “There’s a slight dispute about rotations.”

“Anything I can help with?” Max asked. Evie wondered if he’d also noticed Cullen turning grey over the course of dinner.

“No, it shouldn’t trouble you, your worship,” Cullen replied, and then turned and left the hall only a hairsbreadth from sprinting.

Solona’s eyes followed him down the length of the hall, and only once the door had closed behind him did she turn back to the table. It took her a minute, Evie noticed, to fix her perfect smile back on.

* * *

* * *

 

Cullen gave up on sleeping before he’d even begun to try. He could hear the rest of the castle getting excitable over the king’s visit, and from his office, he could hear the sound from the tavern, and he couldn’t begin to sleep, because if he tried he’d dream. He stared down at the philtre on his desk and ran his hand through his hair, nearly pulling it at the roots.

He should just take it. He didn’t know if Solona was still – it would be better to have a fully functional templar on hand just in case.

He opened the box and stared.

And then, consequences be damned, he hurled it against the wall and shattered it.

* * *

* * *

 

To Evie’s great relief, Josephine had not insisted on communal, formal breakfast with the Fereldan nobility. Instead she got to drag a large serving of potatoes and eggs up from the dining hall into her quarters which she shared with Ella, and sit on one of their beds sharing a meal while Fenlen sprawled across their laps.

“How was Haven?” Evie asked, stirring more cream into her coffee. Josephine had been surprised when Evie and Max requisitioned the stuff as soon as they got into Skyhold, until Max had reminded her they were half Antivan. “Was it awful being back there?”

“It was sad, a little,” Ella said. “Everything’s under the snow.”

Evie grimaced, imagining it. “Did you all find anything useful?”

“I found one of your old hair combs, and also a locket,” Ella said, handing Evie the tray of breakfast for safe-keeping and climbing off the bed to fish in her rucksack. She handed a pearl comb and a delicate golden locket to Evie before taking the tray back so Evie could deal with them. “I assumed the locket was yours, since it had your portrait in it.”

Evie clicked it open and stared at the small inset.

“It’s not me,” she said, clasping it around her neck. “It was my mother.”

“Oh,” Ella said.

“Thank you for finding it,” Evie replied. “I thought I’d lost it forever.”

Ella grinned at her and speared a few more potatoes. She liked human food, Evie had discovered. Or liked the way humans seasoned their food.

“Did you figure out why Bull hasn’t been big on letting you join the Chargers?” Evie asked, dragging the edge of her toast through a small pool of butter.

“Oh, erm, yes,” Ella said, and to Evie’s astonishment, her ears turned bright red. “He has noticed me checking him out and tries to avoid hiring people he wants to have sex with.”

Evie choked on her toast and coughed wildly for a moment before she managed to take a big enough drink of her coffee to combat this problem.

“I’m sorry,  _ what _ ?” she demanded. Ella giggled, even though her ears were still bright red. “Wait, do you want to--”

“I’m curious,” Ella admitted.

“About what?” Dorian asked, waltzing into their room and lounging on the bed with them. Fenlen abandoned their laps and pulled at Dorian’s shirt until he condescended to pet him.

“Having  _ sex  _ with  _ Iron Bull _ ,” Evie replied, still completely shocked by the concept.

“ _ What? _ ” Dorian exclaimed.

“Really?” Ella asked, looking between them. “Neither of you are the least bit curious?”

“I--” Dorian started to protest, and then, faintly, turned pink. “Perhaps just the smallest amount. But never enough that I’d go on a fact finding mission myself.”

“I’d be happy to hear all the salacious details later though,” Evie said. She sized Ella up, and frowned. “But aren’t you sort of…small?”

Ella shrugged. She didn’t seem troubled by the idea at all, which Evie thought was incredibly brave.

“But really though,” Dorian said. “A Qunari.”

Ella shrugged again. “I’ve had sex with elves and humans. Why not a Qunari?”

Dorian struggled to find an answer and was saved by a knock on the door.

“Five sovereigns says that’s Iron Bull with impeccable timing,” he muttered.

“You’re on,” Evie replied. “Come in!”

The door opened, and Solona Amell stepped inside. Her eyes flicked over the scene, and then she painted a smile on, despite Dorian’s groan of frustration. Evie held a hand over to him and he sighed before fishing out five sovereigns.

“Evelyn, good morning,” Solona said. “I was hoping you might be willing to give me a tour of the castle.”

Evie glanced at the others, and found them looking just as confused as she felt.

“Erm, sure,” she said. She stood and quickly plaited her hair over her shoulder before putting her boots back on. She didn’t bother to grab a coat or a cloak, since she only ever wore them for other people’s visual comfort. Alone in the Inquisition, she didn’t actually mind the cold.

She was shorter than Solona, she realised as she walked beside her onto the balcony. And Solona seemed right at home among the ice and snow, whereas Evie looked and felt a bit like a misplaced firepit.

“Are the Free Marches very different from the south?” Solona asked as they walked, in between Evie pointing out everyone’s assigned doors.

“It’s colder,” Evie said. “The beer is worse. But there are more dogs.”

Solona smiled. “If it’s colder, why aren’t you wearing a coat?”

“I’m a pyromancer,” Evie said.

“Oh,” Solona said, staring at Evie in sudden concern. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise.”

Evie sighed. “It’s not actually as bad as they say,” she said. “We’re not all ‘one bad fight away from going up in smoke’.”

“But still,” Solona said, placing an un-gloved hand on Evie’s shoulder. Even through Evie’s shirt, she could feel waves of cold coming off her. “I’m sorry.”

She removed her hand and Evie realised that when Solona exhaled, she didn’t leave clouds of steam behind.

“Natural affinity for ice,” Solona said when she noticed Evie staring.

Evie walked her around the ramparts and through the mages’ tower, pointing out their alchemical and magical research stations. Solona seemed less interested in them than Evie might have expected.

“May I ask you something?” Evie said finally.

“Of course,” Solona replied.

“Are you and the king married?” Evie asked.

Solona smiled, with just a hint of secrecy. “As a mage, of course, I’m not really allowed to marry. And as a Grey Warden, it would be nearly impossible for me to provide an heir to the throne.”

Evie felt her eyebrows raise incredulously.

“We’ve been married for nine and a half years,” Solona replied.

Evie snorted and started to lead her towards the stairs down into the courtyard but Solona stopped her.

“Actually, Evelyn, I asked you to walk with me under somewhat false pretences,” she said. Evie blinked. “How well do you know the commander?”

Of all the directions Evie could’ve seen Solona’s question heading, that was not one of them.

“Erm, not particularly well,” Evie replied. “Why?”

“Is it uncomfortable having a templar as the leader of the Inquisition’s forces?” Solona asked. To Evie’s confusion, her tone was laden with worry and concern that was stunningly authentic in her honeyed voice.

“I don’t think he’s really a templar anymore,” Evie said. “But you’d really have to ask Max.”

Solona gave her a sad smile. “Yes, but Max isn’t a mage himself,” she said. “Does Cullen treat the mages here well? I’m sure he’s hideously suspicious of them, of course, but he doesn’t abuse them too much, does he?”

Evie stared at her. Solana’s lovely blue eyes were wide and sympathetic, and charming, so charming, except that there was complete nonsense coming out of her mouth.

“Erm, no, he doesn’t,” Evie said. “At all.”

Solona squeezed her hand, and the other woman’s hand was cold enough it actually sent gooseflesh up Evie’s arm. She wasn’t sure she’d ever had gooseflesh before. Not even before she turned eight, before her magic manifested.

“I’m sure he makes it look that way to  _ you _ , darling,” Solona said, her voice oozing sympathy, like she was trying to help Evie see through a delusion.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand why you’re telling me this, your majesty,” Evie replied, tugging her hand back and pinning it under her arm.

“Because you’re exactly his type and I don’t want to see anyone else get hurt,” Solona said. She brushed a stray tendril of Evie’s hair off her face, briefly rested a hand on her cheek, and then smiled. “I should let you get back to your day.”

And she turned and vanished down the stairs, leaving Evie to stare after her.

* * *

* * *

 

Scout Harding had been sure she knew every dwarf in the Inquisition, but the woman sitting at the bar of the tavern chattering at Cabot was unfamiliar. She was definitely Inquisition, though, and was definitely enthusiastic about whatever she was saying.

Fortunately, Harding had a favourite tavern attendee to interrogate.

Krem jumped to his feet when Harding walked over, and tried to smooth any wrinkles out of his shirt without seeming to realise he was wearing a breastplate. Harding tried, and failed miserably, not to find it adorable.

“Afternoon, Lieutenant,” she said, smiling at him.

“Good afternoon, Scout Harding,” he replied. “You’re not scouting.”

“We’re still cobbling together the maps we’ve got of Orlais,” Harding said. “Since we’re about to spend several months there. So until we go to the Winter Palace, I get to stay here.”

“That sounds nice,” Krem said. “How can I help?”

Harding regretted for a moment that his immediate offer was of help, rather than buying a girl a drink, but she’d deal with that later. She wasn’t fanciful. She wasn’t.

“Do you know who the dwarf is at the bar?” Harding asked.

“Oh! I do!” Rocky said, sidling up to them. Harding deflated just a bit, but so did Krem. Rocky didn’t notice. “Yeah, that’s the arcanist. She left Orzammar about ten years ago.”

“The arcanist?” Harding asked.

“Dagna,” Rocky said. “I think. I’m pretty sure.”

“Thanks, Rocky,” Harding said.

“Sure thing,” Rocky replied, and he headed back to the table where he’d been sitting with some of the other Chargers.

“What does an arcanist do?” Harding asked Krem quietly.

“I dunno,” he said. “Blow things up?”

“Who’s blowing things up?”

They both turned to the stairs to see Sera hopping down them three at a time.

“Dagna, the Arcanist,” Harding replied. She nodded towards the bar.

Sera giggled and looked over at her. “Sounds like fun!” she replied, and bounded over to introduce herself. Harding made a mental note to avoid any areas the two of them had been recently from the moment this Dagna person turned to talk to Sera and their eyes lit up in matching mischievous grins.

“Oh, that doesn’t seem healthy,” Krem said, watching as well. “The last thing Sera needs is more firepower.”

“Seriously though,” Harding agreed. She wondered if she could get one of the servers to bring her a drink somewhere safer than the tavern had just become. “Thanks for the information, Lieutenant.”

“Of course, any time,” Krem said. Harding made it two steps before he cleared his throat. “Erm, Scout Harding? Could I buy you a drink?”

Harding smiled brightly, and then tried to control it before she turned back around. “I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

* * *

 

“You’re both horrid,” Josephine said, crossing her arms and glaring at Leliana and Cullen. Cullen grimaced and looked away, only to accidentally make eye contact with Max, who was snickering.

“I figured that if everything went wrong while you were meeting the King of Ferelden, and then nothing bad actually happened, you would be prepared for anything at the Winter Palace,” Leliana said.

Josephine glowered. “How long have you known the King of Ferelden, Leliana?”

“A little over ten years,” Leliana replied.

Josephine turned to Cullen and he could feel himself flushing. “And you? How long have you known him?”

Cullen cleared his throat and avoided her gaze.

“Commander?” Josephine insisted.

“It’ll be, erm, eighteen,” Cullen said. He couldn’t really believe it, saying the words aloud. He certainly hadn’t known Alistair well when they were thirteen, but they’d been in the same chantry school for templars.

“And the Hero of Ferelden?” Josephine demanded. “Both of you?”

“Ten years as well,” Leliana said.

“Fifteen,” Cullen said, wishing as he said it that he could take most of the years back.

Josephine frowned at them.

“How long have you known each other?” Max asked, looking infinitely curious.

“Ten years,” Cullen and Leliana said in unison. Cullen usually avoided remembering the first time he’d met Leliana.

“Huh,” Max said, nodding. “Good to know. Did anyone catch how long the king and queen will be staying with us, because Evie swore at me about it.”

Cullen exchanged looks with Leliana and Josephine.

“Lady Trevelyan swore at you?” Josephine asked finally.

“Erm, yeah,” Max said, and he glanced at Cullen for just long enough that Cullen realised it was pointed. “I don’t think she gets along with – can she actually be called Queen Solona?”

“Not technically,” Josephine said.

“Right,” Max replied. “I don’t think she and Evie get along.”

“But Solona gets along with everyone,” Leliana protested. “Why not with Evelyn?”

“She doesn’t get along with me, either,” Cullen muttered. He cleared his throat. “Let’s focus on staging our operations in Orlais, please.”

Fortunately, the others agreed with him, and they turned their attention back to the war table. Josephine would remain cross with him and Leliana for the foreseeable future, Cullen imagined, but she was ever the professional and didn’t let it interfere with their planning. By the time Cullen returned to his office, they had quite a large number of operations aligned for their journey into Orlais.

Of course, any feeling of accomplishment and success vanished the moment he set foot in his office. Solona stood at his bookshelf, running a finger along the spines, and didn’t look up when he walked in.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I tried finding your philtre, but for some reason I just found an empty box,” she replied, still without turning around.

“What do you want?” Cullen asked, sitting down at his desk. There was no point in trying to ignore her.

“Tortured any mages lately?” she asked. She might have been asking how the weather was for all the venom in her voice.

“Not that I can recall. Tortured any templars besides your husband?” he snapped.

“Ali was never actually a templar,” Solona replied, finally stepping away from the bookshelf and turning to stare at him. “He never even took lyrium.”

The noise that came out of Cullen’s mouth was jagged and bitter and had, at one point he was sure, been intended as a laugh. “Is that what he told you?”

Solona’s eyes narrowed, and frost started to spread across the stone floor of his office.

“What are you doing in my office,” Cullen said.

Solona took a step closer to his desk and the ice spread from the stone to the wood. “How many mages in Kirkwall were falsely accused of blood magic? How many did you condemn? You, personally, since you’re so frightened of it?”

“Me, personally? None, without proof,” Cullen replied.

“And I’m supposed to believe you?” Solona demanded.

“You’re free to go ask Hawke,” Cullen suggested. “Because I learned from my mistakes.”

Solona kept narrowing her eyes. “You really think Hawke is going to tell me you’re not a terrible person?”

“I don’t think you’d hear him if he said anything different,” Cullen replied. He gritted his teeth and tried to keep his temper from snapping. “Why are you really in here, Solona, you don’t care about mages in the Free Marches. You barely care about other mages at all.”

Any veneer of calm Solona had been wearing vanished, and the frost crept entirely over his desk, across the floor, and up his windows.

“You listen to me, Cullen Rutherford, if you touch a hair on that girl’s head, I will remove you from the Inquisition personally,” Solona snapped, slamming her hands down on his desk.

It was only years of templar training that kept him from flinching. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t know what sorts of games you’re playing with her head, but they will end immediately,” Solona continued, and Cullen just stared at her. He had a sinking feeling that he did know who she was talking about, but it didn’t actually make anything clearer.

“I’m not playing games with anyone’s head,” he said, tempering his voice as best he could. But that had always been Solona’s special skill.

“No? Then why do I have a distinct memory of terrible mind games when we were--”

“Because that’s what you did to  _ me _ !” Cullen shouted.

The silence didn’t echo thanks to the frost inside his office, but Solona still looked just slightly taken aback. He wasn’t sure why. Her intention had very clearly been to needle him until he snapped. 

“If you hurt Evelyn Trevelyan, I will hurt you,” Solona said, very quietly and softly, in her sickly-sweet voice.

“You beat yourself to the punch ten years ago,” Cullen replied. “Please get out of my office.”

“Such politeness,” Solona said. “I thought lyrium withdrawal made people irritable.”

And then she turned on her heel and walked out of his office, leaving the ice behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evie's type is the following:  
> \- born roughly 9:10-11 Dragon  
> \- tall  
> \- good-looking  
> \- Templar adjacent  
> \- warrior
> 
> Alternate name for this chapter: Josephine Montilyet and the Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day.


	16. The Inquisition Tournament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which tensions are broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you get it on Sunday (in most time zones) again, not because I'm having research troubles, but because my beta left a lot of really lovely comments on a few later chapters that made me want to post them - but that's several weeks in the future. 
> 
> Thank you guys all for reading and commenting!

They were to march for Orlais in a week. The majority of the Inquisition was preparing whole-heartedly for the excursion, and the king and queen of Ferelden – whatever Josephine said about Solona’s proper title, Max felt weird calling her anything besides a queen, because she radiated power, and was charming and lovely, and scared the shit out of him – had decided to stay in Skyhold until the Inquisition departed. This sent Leliana into fits of delight, but made Cullen look like he might shortly hurl himself over the battlements.

Morale was actually generally low, Max realised, as he ventured around the castle and checked in with people. No one was looking forward to Orlais in general, or the Winter Palace in particular. And Max had no idea what to do about it.

“Well, you’re from the Free Marches,” Josephine said. “No one ever has high morale in the Free Marches.”

“Josie, was that a direct insult to a whole different country?” Max asked, aghast. “Did Leliana and Cullen break you?”

“I’ve decided to care less,” Josephine said, haughtily. “Clearly there’s no one within the Inquisition’s organisation who I might scandalise.”

Max laughed, and she indulged him with a small smile. “And we Marchers have morale sometimes! We get along great during the Grand Tourney.”

Josephine’s eyes lit up. “A tournament! That would put everyone in high spirits before the ball wouldn’t it?”

Max blinked, and then smiled. “Yeah, I think it would. Sparring?”

“Absolutely,” Josephine said. “Perhaps I’ll ask Cullen. He spends enough time sparring that he could help organise it.”

“He also has to participate,” Max said. “I’ll talk to Varric.”

“About what?” Josephine asked, slightly nervous.

“People will want to bet,” Max replied, and he ran off in search of Varric.

He found him in the tavern with Hawke, who winked at Max when he sat at their table. If Varric noticed, he didn’t say anything. Max wasn’t sure if the discretion was for his benefit, Hawk’s benefit, or Varric’s sanity’s benefit.

“We’re going to have a sparring tournament,” Max said.

“I’m in,” Hawke replied. “What kind of sparring?”

“Dunno yet,” Max said. “Josephine’s working out the details with Cullen. I thought Varric should be apprised so he can set up the betting pool.”

“I’ll go confer with them,” Varric said, finishing his drink and standing. “Don’t get into too much trouble without me.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Hawke replied.

When one of the servers brought Max a beer, he realised it was the first time they’d been alone since Crestwood. Hawke seemed to realise it as well.

“You know, I met Dorian,” he said.

“Oh,” Max said, turning slightly pink. “Did you, erm, tell…”

“Did I what? Waltz up to the man you’re pining for and who is very clearly pining for you and tell him we had a heated night of passion in Crestwood?” Hawke asked.

“Yeah,” Max said.

“Andraste’s tits, Max,” Hawke replied. “I’m not the epitome of tact and sensitivity but I’m not needlessly cruel either.”

Max adopted a sheepish expression and looked down at his beer. He’d known men – had affairs with men – who absolutely were needlessly cruel, including, at one point, his sister Miriam’s then-boyfriend. Hawke was not like them, and Max knew that.

“For fuck’s sake, Max, go throw yourself at Dorian’s feet and tell him you don’t care about your reputation at all, tell him you’re very good at sex, and then you can both stop moping,” Hawke said.

Max sighed. “The problem is  _ he  _ cares about my reputation.”

Hawke gave him a flat look that fully communicated the “for fuck’s sake” sentiment again.

“There’s a major war on, in case you didn’t notice,” Hawke said. “Make the most of it.”

He polished off his beer, and left Max in the tavern to wallow.

* * *

* * *

 

“And why should I be in a sparring tournament?” Vivienne asked, leaning on her banister and looking Varric over with an elegantly arched eyebrow. Varric would take volumes, tomes, to communicate the exact disdain she could conjure with a single flick of her eyebrow. It was impressive, and a little terrifying.

“Look, how’s this,” Varric said. “Round one, I’ll pit you against Firefly, and you get your life’s dream of hitting Evelyn Trevelyan, an upstart young academic from Ostwick, with a stick.”

Vivienne stared at him. “You think I can be persuaded with such base entertainment?”

“I think you want to hit Firefly with a stick,” Varric replied. “And have for about a decade.”

Vivienne’s eyebrow flicked. To Varric’s great relief, Evie took that moment to run down the length of the great hall backwards, pulling Ella along with her. They reached the door to Josephine’s office and vanished with a peal of loud giggling.

“Fine,” Vivienne said. “I’ll only fight Evelyn.”

“First to ten points wins,” Varric said.

Vivienne dismissed him with a backwards wave of her hand.

* * *

 

Carver was easier to convince, since all Varric had to do was convince him he wouldn’t immediately be pitted against Hawke.

“No, there’s two classes,” Varric said. “The lightweight, squishy mage/rogue types, and then the warrior types. Hawke is going to be in the other one.”

“Fine,” Carver said. “As long as I don’t have to fight him.”

“Maybe in the final between the two winners,” Varric said, although he was pretty sure someone was going to get Carver before that was possible. Namely, his first opponent.

“Fine,” Carver said. “Who am I fighting?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, the King of Ferelden,” Varric said, and ran before Carver could try to damage him.

* * *

 

“No.”

Varric stared at Leliana in disbelief. “I haven’t even said anything.”

“No,” Leliana replied in the same flat tone. “It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“The King and Queen of Ferelden are fighting, and Curly’s going to fight too,” Varric said.

“Cullen is a soldier,” Leliana said. “As our general, he leads from the front when he is able. It’s good for the Inquisition to see him as one of the people. I need to be above that.”

Varric sighed, and left her alone.

* * *

 

He brought his final numbers back to Josephine, and set them on her desk.

“We’re unbalanced, Ruffles,” he said. “We’ve got uneven numbers on both sides, and are shy a warrior.”

“Put one of the rogues in the warrior category,” Josephine suggested. “The Inquisitor, perhaps?”

Varric winced. “He was really insistent about fighting in the light-weights category,” he said. “I don’t know if he wants Dorian or his sister to beat him up, but either way, I really didn’t want to think about it too hard, so I let him.”

“The Inquisitor and…Dorian?” Josephine asked. Her eyes lit up and sparkled. “But they would be so romantic and star-crossed! A Tevinter mage and the Herald of Andraste?”

“They’re not actually together,” Varric said, which snapped Josephine back to the present. He glanced at her desk. “Nice flowers, by the way.”

Josephine flushed. “Well, if we’re trying to find someone who is good at dealing damage despite their size, Mistress Lavellan has reportedly sunk an entire island previously.”

Varric snorted, because he could see Ella doing something like that by accident. And then he started laughing in earnest, because he had the perfect opponent for her.

“I’ll put her against Tiny,” he said.

“Won’t that be dangerous?” Josephine asked.

“Nah,” Varric said. “Violet’s a lot faster than he is. This is gonna be great.”  

Josephine still looked dubious, but she didn’t try to stop it.

* * *

* * *

 

“This should be fun,” Ella said, bouncing on her toes next to Evie. There were braziers set up across the courtyard, and the entire Inquisition had presented themselves to watch the inner circle beat each other with sticks and place bets. The servers from the tavern wandered through the crowds handing out warm drinks, and Varric had set up a table to deal with bets. Ella grinned. There was a festival atmosphere to the whole place, and wandering into human festivals had always been one of her favourite pastimes when they were in proper settlements.

“Do you know, are people giving their colours to their favourites?” Carver Hawke asked casually, leaning on the edge of the arena next to Evie and giving her an obvious once over. Ella managed not to laugh.

“No, I don’t think so,” Evie said.

“A pity,” Carver replied. “I’d ask for yours.”

“It would make it so awkward if I had to beat you while you were wearing them, though,” Evie said.

Carver recognised it for the dismissal it was, and nodded politely at both of them before heading back to the other side of the arena. Ella and Evie watched him go, and were therefore perfectly able to see Cullen glowering.

“Wonder what’s got him upset?” Evie asked.

Ella thought it was fairly obvious, but wasn’t about to point that out to Evie if she didn’t see it. She knew how Evie felt about templars.

“Alright everyone!” Varric said, standing on the top railing of the sparring grounds and whistling to get the crowd’s attention. “Welcome to the first annual Inquisition Sparring Tournament thing! Just so you all know the rules – the first combatant to land ten hits on their opponent with their quarterstaff will be crowned the victor. If they touch them with anything else, it doesn’t count – but please don’t use that as an excuse to punch each other in the face, I beg you. We have to look pretty for the Winter Palace.”

This got him a laugh from the crowd and from the competitors.

“Other major rules – nothing sharp, nothing magic, no whaling on your opponent if they’re on the ground, and please try to avoid killing each other,” Varric said. “And for the first round in the heavy-weight class, I give you the longest odds possible, Ella Lavellan and the Iron Bull!”

Ella couldn’t stop grinning while the crowd cheered. She leaped lightly over the fencing and collected her staff from one of the attendants. In order to save the fence, Bull jumped over it and landed with a thud.

“You sure you want to do this, Violet?” Bull asked, raising his eyebrow.

The bell signalling the start of the match rang.

“I thought this was Qunari foreplay,” Ella replied. She attempted to look confused, but the energy of the crowd was too much fun for her to hide her smile.

While Bull laughed, Ella got in three hits in close succession. She tried to jump out of the way, but he managed to smack her in the ass with his staff on her way by.

“Never said it wasn’t,” Bull said.

It was Ella’s turn to laugh while she jumped out of the way of Bull’s next swing. He was wielding the staff like a sword or an axe, which made it fairly easy for her to dodge. And when he charged, he was easy to dodge as well, since she had a staff and could use it for just a little bit of vaulting lift and sail over his head. She landed and smacked him in the ass just before he spun around and swept her legs out from beneath her. Ella landed on her back and somersaulted backwards and out of Bull’s range before feinting on his blind side and coming in low to get in an additional hit.

“You could’ve got at least two more hits in right there,” Bull said.

Ella shrugged. She was still trying to figure out if he was the sort of man who liked it when his partners beat him in combat. Mahanon had hated it, but both the humans she’d been with were overly fond of being beaten by an elf.

“I didn’t want to piss you off,” Ella replied.

“You’re only gonna piss me off if you go easy on me,” Bull replied.

Which answered Ella’s question. She sacrificed a hit to the side in order to get in close enough to smack him in the stomach, the thigh, press herself upwards using his shoulder, kiss him on the cheek, and take advantage of his distraction to finish the round.

Bull was still standing in the same place with his finger on his cheek where Ella had kissed him when Josephine declared her the winner and sent her to wait for the next fight. He only climbed out of the ring when Varric started trying to get everyone’s attention to announce the next round. While Sera and Cole – the latter of whom seemed entirely confused about what was happening – climbed into the ring, Bull accepted some consoling pats from the Chargers before making his way over to the side of the ring where Ella sat. There was no space between the barrel she was sitting on and the ring for him to stand in front of her and talk, at least not without being rude, so he stopped behind her and bent down so his mouth was right next to her ear.

“You’re right,” he said. His voice was so low and deep Ella could actually feel it in her bones. “It is Qunari foreplay.”

He kissed her on the cheek just like she had done, and then headed back to shout and heckle with the Chargers while Sera chased Cole around the ring with her stick.

Eventually, Varric called the match a forfeit on Cole’s part, and handed Cole a mug of hot cider.

“Next up!” Varric said. “Grey Warden Carver Hawke and King Alistair Theirin!”

“You should’ve given him your favour, Evie,” Ella said while the strapping Warden readied himself against the king. Carver was holding the staff like a sword as well, while the king had gone for a more practical pike and halberd approach. “It might make him feel better when he loses.”

“Maybe he won’t lose,” Evie said, which quickly proved to be a false guess. It wasn’t that Carver was bad in a fight – far from it – but the king was better. Carver’s loss wasn’t bemoaned as heavily as Bull’s had been, Ella noticed, but Varric had put more even odds on him and the king.

“I think I’m up,” Evie said. “Grab me a mug of cider if they come back around?”

“Of course!” Ella said. “I’m rooting for you!”

Evie was correct about the timing. She was the next to be called, opposite Vivienne.

“Oh this should be fascinating,” Dorian said, taking Evie’s seat next to Ella. He was wrapped in a heavy coat and was watching the light snow fall with distaste.

“Evie’s going to win,” Ella said.

“Undoubtedly, but there’s a chance of Madame de Fer resorting to magic out of anger,” Dorian replied. Ella shuddered and flagged down the girl with the cider, taking three tankards and handing one to Dorian in the hopes of warming him up just a little.

In the ring, Evie readied her staff, as did Vivienne. Evie was much shorter, and stockier, and crackled with an energy that Vivienne didn’t give off. Vivienne looked like a statue, and repelled the first of Evie’s attacks without taking a step. But Evie was faster, and lighter on her feet, and in the end, she won 10-4. But to Ella’s surprise, Vivienne didn’t look mad. She seemed begrudgingly accepting.

“Maker’s breath, that was satisfying,” Evie enthused, bounding back over to their seats and simply sitting on Dorian when he wouldn’t move.

“Andraste’s ass, you’re warm,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and using her as a personal heater.

“You’ll be warmer once you’ve fought Max,” Evie assured him.

“Oh goody,” Dorian replied. Ella smiled and handed Evie her cider.

In the next round, they bore witness to Cassandra absolutely trouncing Krem. Ella was prepared to be deeply concerned for him since Cassandra had somewhat accidentally whacked him in the head as the final point, but Scout Harding was leaning over him, helping him put some packed snow against the inevitable bump, and from Krem’s starry-eyed expression, there was nowhere he’d rather be at that moment, head injury or no.

“Ah, did the lieutenant find love?” Dorian asked, watching the exchange as well.

“That’s adorable,” Evie said. She stood and patted him on the knee. “Come on, it’s your turn.”

Dorian grimaced at her, but stood as well, casting aside his coat in time for Varric to announce that the next round was between Dorian and Max.

* * *

* * *

 

At some point, in Max’s head, it had seemed like sparring with Dorian would be a good time to talk to him. He regretted that train of thought as they faced off against each other in the ring, because Dorian actually had practice fighting with a staff and Max did not.

“Dorian?” Max asked, trying anyway, despite the fact he was busy attempting to block Dorian’s blows. “Is Mother Giselle the reason you won’t--”

The staff caught him in the gut and Max coughed, instinctively swinging and catching Dorian in the legs.

“Mother Giselle is an interfering old hen,” Dorian replied, waiting for Max to straighten up before renewing the attack. But Max was quick, and Dorian’s usual fighting style didn’t require lots of movement, and so Max was going to have to milk that to his advantage.

“An interfering old hen who said it would be unseemly for the Inquisitor to be seen with a Tevinter mage?” Max asked, sneaking a strike in under Dorian’s staff.

“Who gossips and is actively trying to turn the people of the Inquisition against me,” Dorian said. “And I won’t have her spreading suspicion that the actions and decisions you take as Inquisitor are only because you’re enthralled by blood magic.”

Max groaned in frustration, and managed to block one of Dorian’s attacks. “Then shouldn’t we not even be friends?”

Dorian’s so charming grey eyes went wide in what Max hoped was dismay and despair.

“I think that would kill me,” Dorian said, so quietly and earnestly that Max felt bad about taking slight advantage to land another blow. “Cheat.”

“Only at cards and unfair fights,” Max replied.

“I knew you cheated at wicked grace, there was no possible way,” Dorian said, catching Max’s arm with his staff.

“Dorian, I care about you,” Max said. “I’d like to care about you much more than I do. If you want me to banish Mother Giselle from Skyhold, I will. In a heartbeat.”

Dorian smiled softly at him, and then smacked him in the chest while his guard was down.

“Perhaps – perhaps we can talk when we’re not sparring and in public in a tournament,” Dorian said.

“Promise?” Max asked.

“Promise,” Dorian replied.

Max wasn’t sure if Dorian intentionally conceded the match, or if Max actually bested him, but either way, Max was the victor.

“Thanks for the, erm, fair fight,” Max said, vaulting out of the ring. Dorian managed to make his own escape look artful somehow.

“See if I ever play wicked grace with you again,” Dorian replied.

Max smiled, and felt that somehow, maybe, they were going to find a solution.

Dorian returned to sitting with Evie and Ella, and Max joined Cassandra while they watched Cullen and Blackwall fight. On the whole, they were fairly well matched, but even though Blackwall had fifteen years more experience than Cullen did, Cullen had the advantage of being fifteen years younger, and emerged the victor.

The last opening round was between Solona and Hawke.

“You know,” Cassandra said, while the mages tested the balance of their staffs and smiled savagely at each other. “When we knew we were starting the Inquisition, we wanted one of them to be the Inquisitor.”

“Oh,” Max said. “I see it. Solona, the Hero of Ferelden, the most powerful woman  _ in  _ Ferelden. She’d be a natural choice. And Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, sure.”

“We could not find either of them,” Cassandra said. She sighed. “And since I have now met Garrett Hawke, I might possibly believe Varric to be correct when he says that ‘the only thing funnier than the fact we wanted Hawke to run the Inquisition is the idea of Hawke actually running it.’”

Max blinked at her and looked back at the ring, still slightly in shock.

“What? Why are you making that face?” Cassandra asked.

“You quoted Varric,” Max said. “I’m just surprised.”

In the ring, Solona landed a truly nasty blow on Hawke’s stomach that sent him sprawling back several feet, green in the face. Max winced. Hawke had a remarkably fragile stomach and wasn’t wearing armour at the moment.

“May I shock you even more?” Cassandra asked, a hint of mischief in her voice. “I have read Varric’s books.”

Max gasped, a little more genuinely than he intended.

“And if you tell him that, I don’t care who you are, we can take your mark and have one of the rest of us wave it about on a pike,” Cassandra added.

Max grinned. “I’d never tell, promise,” he said.

“Good,” Cassandra replied, turning back to the match. “But all that being said, I am glad that it was you who fell out of the fade and became the Inquisitor.”

“Thanks, Cassandra,” Max said. “I’m glad to have your help with it.”

They watched Solona exploit Hawke’s glass stomach again, and beat him at the round. Hawke winced his way over to Varric and Carver, the latter of whom seemed less concerned than Max thought brothers were supposed to – at least functional brothers, like Carver and Hawke – and Solona climbed out of the ring into Alistair’s arms.

“Which books?” Max asked. Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “Of Varric’s. Which have you read?”

For some reason, Cassandra flushed bright pink.

“Oh,” she said. “There is a serial, called  _ Swords and Shields _ .”

“What’s it about?” Max asked, but Cassandra was saved from answering by Josephine announcing there was a midday meal in the hall available to all who wanted it, while she and Varric worked out the next round of matches.

“It is – literature,” Cassandra said, still bright red. “Smutty literature. And he has not finished writing it, and has not released the next chapter in over a year.”

“That seems rude of him,” Max said, wondering what he was possibly supposed to make of the fact Cassandra enjoyed romance novels.

“Forget you know this about me,” Cassandra requested. “And we should go eat. We must fight in the next round.”

* * *

* * *

 

Evie thought the next round was fun, even if Ella did lose to King Alistair with surprising speed. The king was much quicker than he looked, almost like he was elf-blooded, and as Ella was less experienced fighting with a staff, she lost the round.

“You put up a good fight!” Evie assured her when she climbed out of the ring and took up her seat next to Dorian.

“Thanks,” Ella said. She didn’t look concerned about losing, and Evie figured she was just glad she’d beat Bull when it counted.

The next round in her class was Sera against Solona. Sera, not the biggest fan of mages, lost within moments, and everyone winced. Evie glanced over at Hawke, who was still green around the gills from Solona hitting him in the stomach.

And then it was Cullen versus Cassandra. Evie didn’t know which of them was technically better, but it seemed like it was the most evenly matched fight they’d seen so far. She hadn’t been able to make herself place a bet, because she truly didn’t know which of them she wanted to win.

In the end, Cassandra got nine points, and Cullen got ten.

“Doesn’t this mean the final round in their class is our darling commander and the King of Ferelden?” Dorian asked, flagging down the server carrying more cider and refilling his and Ella’s cups.

“Is that bad?” Ella asked.

“There’s some sort of weird history between Cullen, Solona Amell, and the king,” Evie replied. She didn’t know what the bad blood was herself, but it seemed troubling to all of them. “Alright. I’m going to go kick my brother’s ass.”

“I hope so, I bet on you,” Ella replied. Evie raised an eyebrow at Dorian while she stretched out her shoulders.

“I refuse to comment,” Dorian said with his nose in the air.

Evie tousled his hair in response and vaulted over the fence before he could retaliate.

“What sort of horrible crime did Dorian commit to deserve that?” Max asked, checking his grip on his staff. Evie held hers loosely and inspected it for damage.

“He wouldn’t say which of us he bet on,” Evie replied, taking her starting stance at Varric’s shout. The bell rang.

“Me, obviously,” Max said, coming in quickly for the first attack. Evie blocked it easily, clipping his staff with enough force to spin him and set him off balance. She took the first point.

“Dorian bets safe,” Evie said. “Not on long odds.”

“Ouch,” Max replied, trying to rush her again. He might have been faster than she was, Evie couldn’t deny that, but she could use his momentum against him. She waited until the last moment to side-step and took him out at the knee.

“And that’s two-nothing to Lady Trevelyan!” Varric announced.

“You’re going to hand me my ass, aren’t you?” Max asked, hopping back to his feet.

“I’m going to hand everyone their ass,” Evie replied, attacking for the first time. Max blocked, blocked again, tried to sidestep, and tripped over Evie’s staff. “Three-nothing.”

“Were you like this when we were kids?” Max asked. He tried using the staff like a sword, but Evie caught his attack on her staff and smacked him in the hands.

“A little,” she said. “Mostly we just played make-believe, remember?”

“Yeah, I do remember, and I was always the fighter,” Max replied. His next attack was futile as well. “You were always Andraste. Ironically.”

“You know, in Tevinter, they think Andraste was a mage,” Evie said, neatly disarming him and landing the last of her needed blows before he could get his staff back.

“And that would be ten-nothing, for Lady Trevelyan!” Varric shouted. “This is your Inquisitor, folks, beaten up by his own sister.”

“Thanks, Varric,” Max said, massaging a soon-to-be bruise on his arm. “Way to help everyone keep their faith in me.”

“I, for one, like knowing the Inquisitor is actually a person somewhere deep down inside,” Varric replied, and the crowd cheered. Max gave a small, good natured bow, and climbed out of the ring. “Alright everyone! Semi-finals and finals will be tomorrow morning! There is ale in the tavern, there is food in the hall, your winnings can be collected from the bar! Have a good night!”

The mood was nearly jubilant as everyone spread out to go eat or drink or check their bets. Evie almost wanted to know what the odds were for her and Solona, or for Alistair and Cullen, but she also didn’t want to ask. She didn’t know if she could beat Solona, and she didn’t really want to hear Varric’s guess.

“You’ll be fine, Evie,” Ella assured her that night while they crawled into their respective beds. Fenlen, possibly sensing Evie’s distress, decided to sleep with her that night, under the covers and cuddled up against her side.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right,” Evie said. “She’s not the most powerful woman in Ferelden and didn’t kill an archdemon by herself. It’s fine.”

Ella lobbed a pillow at her head and complained when Evie wouldn’t give it back.

“First my nug, now my pillow,” Ella lamented.

“Fenlen makes his own choices,” Evie replied. “Good night.”

“Night,” Ella replied, and she rolled over and blew out the candle.

* * *

* * *

 

Cullen almost regretted letting Josephine and Max and Varric talk him into the tournament. Mostly because he was actually having fun, and that seemed like something he wasn’t really supposed to be doing as the commander of the Inquisition’s forces. Especially not the next morning when Evelyn invited herself to his table for breakfast and sat across from him. She sipped her coffee, and looked down at her potatoes, and he used that opportunity to glance up at the end of the table where Solona was glaring at him.

“Can I ask something?” Evelyn said, inspecting a potato at the end of her fork and then eating it. She wasn’t looking at him, which he decided was probably for the best since he was fairly certain he looked stricken. It was the sort of expression he’d been wearing frequently since Solona appeared in Skyhold.

“Sure,” Cullen said.

_ If you touch Evelyn Trevelyan _ , Solona had warned. Because clearly all red-headed mages were catmint as far as he was concerned? Because Evelyn was fire and Solona had frozen him ten years earlier? He didn’t know where Solona got the impression he’d even want to touch Evelyn. Because he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. It would be absurd.

“Why is Solona Amell trying to protect me from you?” Evelyn asked, finally looking at him. In the wintery Firstfall sun, parts of her green eyes glowed gold and sparkled like sunlight on the Waking Sea. She blinked, and raised an eyebrow at him when he didn’t immediately answer. As he had just figured out the answer himself.

“She hates me,” Cullen said, looking away from Evelyn’s eyes and wishing he was somewhere else so he could smack himself. He was an idiot, there was no other explanation.

“Oh, no, I got that,” Evelyn said. “But why did she pick me to try and protect?”

“If it helps, I believe her intentions are genuine,” Cullen said. “She probably does truly want to protect you.”

“From… you…” Evelyn replied, giving him a look that clearly communicated she thought he’d lost his mind. “Erm, why?”

“Ask her,” Cullen suggested, and then regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.

On the bright side, he reflected, while Evelyn continued to eat her breakfast and stare at him like he’d gone mad, he was no longer having fun.

The festival atmosphere in the courtyard was even grander than it had been the day before. Cullen almost found it infectious while he climbed into the ring and made ready to spar against his king. His king, who happened to be Alistair, who he’d known since they were children.

“How about we make this more interesting,” Alistair suggested while Varric did his starting announcements.

“How would it be more interesting, your majesty?” Cullen asked.

Alistair made a face at the title, but continued. “If you win, I’ll grant you a title.”

“What would I want with a title?” Cullen asked. The bell rang to start the match, and he blocked Alistair’s first attack before making one of his own.

“Hard to properly woo an actual  _ lady  _ when you’re a landless soldier,” Alistair replied.

Cullen was too taken aback for just a moment to block Alistair’s next attack.

“Your wife threatened to kill me if I tried to ‘woo’ a lady,” Cullen replied, which had the added bonus of drawing Alistair up short. Cullen landed a hit.

“Any lady or that one in particular?” Alistair asked. Cullen didn’t get a chance to answer immediately, as he was under attack.

“That one in particular,” Cullen finally said, after he regained his footing and the points he’d lost.

Alistair considered, and caught Cullen’s next attack. “Isn’t she a little late, threatening you for something that’s already happened?”

“Erm, no?” Cullen said.

Cullen had no way to predict that Alistair would turn to look at Evelyn in confusion just at the exact moment Cullen swung. His staff connected with Alistair’s unprotected jaw and sent him staggering into the fencing. A gasp went up from the crowd and Cullen remembered properly that he was fighting against the King of Ferelden.

“Your majesty, I am so sorry,” Cullen said. He stood, paralysed, while Alistair rubbed his jaw. It was already starting to turn red and swell up.

“I wouldn’t want you to go easy on me just because I’m your king, Rutherford,” Alistair replied. “Didn’t we have an agreement about that back in the templars?”

“Every time we followed that agreement, you lost,” Cullen reminded him.

“Then I’ll lose,” Alistair said, as if this was simple. “I’d rather lose honourably than win unfairly.”

Cullen understood that particular drive.

He did win, eventually, ten points to seven. Alistair’s jaw was turning dark purple by the time they finished and climbed out of the ring. Solona tried to fawn over him and fix the bruising, but healing magic had never been her strong suit. Cullen avoided them and found his way to the spot where Cassandra and the Inquisitor were watching the matches.

“You smacked the king in the face,” Max said, clapping him on the shoulder. He sniffed dramatically. “I’ve never been so proud.”

“Yes, yes, you’re very funny,” Cullen replied.

Max grinned and then cupped his hands around his mouth to cheer for Evelyn as loudly as he could. Nerves built in Cullen’s stomach as Evelyn climbed into the ring opposite Solona. He knew she could fight, especially with a quarterstaff. With a quarterstaff she was better than just about everyone in the Inquisition. Not that he’d told her that. He probably should.

“Want to make a bet, Curly?” Varric asked, elbowing him in the ribs.

“On Evelyn,” Cullen replied, and then cleared his throat uncomfortably when Varric, Cassandra, and Max raised their eyebrows at him. “To support the Inquisition, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Varric repeated, taking his gold and returning to his announcers table.

“Please don’t,” Cullen said while Max and Cassandra kept staring at him.

Solona had not bothered to tie back her hair for the sparring match, and the icy winds lifted it in tendrils and waves. Evelyn’s braid crackled with fire.

“Evie is going to kick her ass, right?” Max asked a little nervously as the bell rang and Solona launched herself at Evelyn.

“Maker’s breath, I hope so,” Cullen said.

And Evelyn fought back. Cullen mentally checked himself every time he tried to call out corrections to Evelyn’s attacks or sidesteps. He’d spent probably too much time training her, when it came down to it, though, because the few things that were missteps to him were entirely nitpicky, rather than anything concrete and damaging to her fighting ability.

“You look proud, Commander,” Cassandra said.

“I am,” Cullen replied while Evelyn blocked Solona’s attack and used the same momentum to flip her. “She’s come a long way.”

“Hope she wins,” Varric said, appearing beside them again. Cullen wondered how long he’d been eavesdropping. “If it’s the two of you in the final, I officially get to sell tickets to your sparring practice.”

Cullen glowered at him and Varric laughed.

The score was 6-6 when Cullen truly started to worry. Solona might try to protect Evelyn from the unwanted affections of a templar – so long as that templar was him – but she also hated losing. Cullen didn’t know if she hated it enough to cheat, but he didn’t like the chances, especially not when Evelyn landed point number seven.

The two of them had a quiet exchange that Cullen was too far away to hear. For some reason, it made Solona snarl, and try to attack as quickly as possible. But that was Evelyn’s strongest defence – using her opponents’ momentum against them.

The match ended with Solona on the ground, staring angrily up at Evelyn while Evelyn held the end of her staff against Solona’s neck. But while the crowd alternately groaned or cheered, Evelyn reached a hand down to help Solona to her feet, and Solona accepted.

“Thanks for making it to the final, Curly,” Varric said, clapping him on the back.

“Anything to help,” Cullen replied, still watching Solona and Evelyn. He wasn’t sure if he was confused, concerned, or relieved that they appeared to be chatting amiably. He settled on all three. “Varric, what odds are you going to put on me and Evelyn?”

“You don’t get to bet,” Varric replied.

“I wasn’t going to,” Cullen said. “But what odds are you putting on us tying?”

Varric laughed. “Oh Curly, you forget. Evelyn Trevelyan’s not a woman, she’s a wildfire that sometimes agrees to be human.”

“You think she’s going to win?” Cullen asked.

“I’m pretty damn sure,” Varric replied. Cullen sort of hoped he was right.

* * *

* * *

 

Overall, Evie thought her conversation with Solona had gone well. Solona had been vague about why she was trying to protect Evie from Cullen specifically, but having Evie beat her in the sparring match had gone a long way towards putting substance behind Evie’s assurances that really, she could take care of herself.

Evie only realised that Solona and Cullen had been former lovers when she asked Solona why she distrusted Cullen so much, and her response was to, “Ask him. See what he tells you,” in more or less the same tone Cullen had used over breakfast.

And so, during lunch while Varric needed time to collect all of the bets for the final, Evie tracked down Leliana.

“Evelyn, what can I do for you,” Leliana said.

“Cullen and Solona used to be lovers, didn’t they,” Evie replied. It was supposed to be phrased as a question, but it was too obvious now for her to phrase it another way.

Leliana sighed. “Yes,” she said. “They were. A very long time ago.”

“Then why do they hate each other so much?” Evie asked.

“It is not my story to tell,” Leliana replied. “I’m sure one of them would tell you if you asked.”

Evie nodded, because she’d sort of wondered if that was going to be the spymaster’s response.

“I will say this though,” Leliana added before Evie could leave. “I have known Solona for years, and she is one of my dearest friends.”

Evie waited, because she could hear the “but” implied by Leliana’s tone.

“They’ve always brought out the worst in each other,” Leliana said. “Our commander and the Hero of Ferelden. Always.”

“Right,” Evie said. “Thank you.”

“Oh, and good luck,” Leliana said. “I bet on you.”

Evie couldn’t help but smile as she headed back outside and towards the ring. It was funny, sparring with Cullen with the entire Inquisition watching. Varric must’ve been thrilled that he was, in fact, essentially selling tickets to one of their sparring practices. It seemed like it should’ve felt different when she climbed into the ring and held her staff. But it didn’t. It felt just like any other sparring practice.

And then the bell rang.

Evie was aware of the crowd cheering excitedly for them, but she could barely hear them over the sounds of their quarterstaffs clacking together, since neither of them landed a hit. Belatedly, Evie tried to remember the last time she’d managed to hit him in practice, and came up blank unless he’d been distracted.

Then she tried to remember the last time he’d hit her, with equal results.

“This might be a very long match,” she said, and Cullen laughed. She took advantage of his laughter to jab him in the shoulder and then jump back out of his reach.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Cullen said, but his eyes were still laughing.

“No one’s ever accused me of being nice,” Evie replied, blocking his next swing and ducking out of the way of the one that followed. He had a longer reach, but she was more flexible. Which worked just fine, until she was too close to the edge of the ring to jump out of the way and instead bent over backwards to avoid a swing, and started to fall over. Out of reflex, Cullen caught her forearm and kept her from falling.

The crowd jeered and Evie giggled at their annoyance.

“Come on, Commander, you’re not supposed to keep your opponent from falling over,” she said while he set her back upright and took two steps away.

“My mistake,” he replied. “I won’t let it happen again.”

“Good,” Evie said, and she attacked.

It was nice, sparring with him. She knew the majority of his moves and could anticipate them and catch his attacks, but the same was true in reverse. By the time they’d been in the ring half an hour, the score was one-one and Evie could see Varric’s growing distress if she glanced at him.

Finally, Varric rang the bell.

“Okay, you two have been fighting for most of an hour,” Varric announced. “The next person to get a point wins.”

Evie laughed, and Cullen actually smiled, and they agreed. Varric rang the bell again, and they went back to it with more intensity than before. Energy crackled around the ring every time their staffs collided and it made Evie want to laugh, except for the intensity it added to the situation. For some reason, she couldn’t stop thinking about the first time they’d fought like this, in the woods around Haven.

“Lady Trevelyan, do you not know my name?” he’d asked, all the light far from his amber eyes.

Now there was nothing but light in them. He was enjoying sparring with her, and she with him. And Solona was trying to protect Evie from her former lover because she thought Evie and Cullen were together, or about to be. And for the first time, Evie wondered if she was right.

And then she saw Cullen leave his shoulder unprotected, and she swung.

Right as her staff collected with his shoulder, his caught her in the waist. A tie.

“Evelyn, are you alright?” Cullen asked suddenly, the happiness leaving his eyes while he looked at her in concern.

“Mmhmm,” Evie replied, since she didn’t trust herself to speak. Because she wanted to kiss him. Audience be damned, she wanted to stand on her toes, run her hands through the blond curls trying to come out of containment on his head, and kiss him, possibly never to stop.

A templar. She wanted to kiss a templar. There was something so very wrong with her.

  
  



	17. On the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is international travel.

“Hang on, you  _ just  _ realised this?” Dorian asked, gaping at Evie while she hid her face in a pillow. Her and Ella’s room was in distress, while they all packed for Orlais. Dorian’s room was still impeccable, as always, but he was having a fight with the librarians about which volumes he was allowed to bring for research into the Orlesian wilderness.

“Yes!” Evie insisted.

“Alright, so Ella is fucking a Qunari--”

“Not yet,” Ella replied, pulling Fenlen out of her saddlebag for the fourth time in the ten minutes Dorian had been in their room.

“Ella has immediate plans to fuck a Qunari,” Dorian amended, “I have… a complicated but very acknowledged…  _ thing _ … with Max, and I don’t know for sure about Ella, but I assumed you at least  _ knew  _ you wanted the commander.”

Ella confirmed with a nod.

“Well I didn’t,” Evie said. “I didn’t know. And now I regret knowing, because he’s a templar.”

“He seems to be a very different templar than the last one you bedded,” Dorian replied, sitting beside her. “Besides. Have you talked to him about it?”

Who was he to be giving relationship advice, Dorian wondered? He’d never been in a relationship. The closest he’d come to heartache was the emotional response that seemed so disproportionate when he told Max they oughtn’t be together, like it was somehow assumed that were they to kiss or fall into bed together, it would be a real relationship. And they had promised to  _ talk _ and they were about to be stuck on the road to Halamshiral together for two weeks, and then in greater Orlais for months. There was nothing Dorian could do to avoid it.

And it wasn’t like he could simply say to Max, “I hate the way people talk about me, and I couldn’t bear it if they spoke that way about you as well,” because Max had made it plain that he didn’t care.

“Why would I talk to him about it, Dorian?” Evie demanded.

“I honestly have no idea,” Dorian replied. “I should go finish packing.”

Evie waved him off, and Ella waved goodbye.

When he was fully packed, Dorian carried his bags down to the stables to make ready for their departure and noticed Blackwall carefully arranging a set of lovely white flowers. Dorian’s love of gossip lost to his lack of desire to speak to the surly Free Marcher.

He headed back into the keep through the door to the kitchens. The sooner he could get out of the cold the better. The kitchen staff didn’t so much as glance at him as he made his way through, and seeing as the wine attendant was absent, Dorian borrowed a bottle on his way by. He almost regretted their ill-behaviour around the King and Queen of Ferelden as he passed through the empty dining hall, since there might have been a chocolate fountain available under better circumstances.

He took the stairs up to Josephine’s office, and paused when he noticed the flowers on her desk. They were the same as the ones Blackwall had been arranging in the stables.

“My lady ambassador,” Dorian said, unable to help himself. “You’re looking remarkably relaxed for a woman organising an expedition to the Winter Palace.”

“Oh, thank you, Lord Pavus,” Josephine said, straightening her papers. “I am trying not to worry about the uniforms making us all stand out. It seems as though we will look like we are invading Halamshiral.”

“Aren’t we, in a way?” Dorian asked, leaning against her desk and trying not to visibly shudder when he thought about the uniforms. Maker but he hated those uniforms.

“Yes, but I would prefer people not to know it,” Josephine replied.

“You need a drink, my dear,” Dorian said, and he swiped two glasses from a side shelf and poured his pilfered wine.

“Thank you,” Josephine said, allowing Dorian to steer her over to the chairs in front of her fireplace.

“The southerners can be so barbaric,” Dorian said. “With their draughty castles and terrible wine.”

Josephine smiled. “I try not to think about it,” she said.

“Does it work for you?” he asked.

She laughed. “No,” she said. “And sometimes I feel they all must hate me for it.”

“Nonsense,” Dorian said. He was fairly sure no one hated Josephine. “Look, someone even brought you flowers.”

“Oh,” Josephine said, flushing slightly. “Yes, well. Do you have the notion of courtly love in Tevinter?”

“It sounds familiar, but I’m not sure,” Dorian said honestly.

“Courtly love is the idea of two people who cannot be together for a variety of reasons, who acknowledge that they have romantic feelings for one another, but can never consummate those feelings,” Josephine said. “It is very popular in Orlais.”

Dorian grimaced. “That sounds… quite awful, I’m not going to lie. What’s the point of acknowledging your romantic feelings towards another person if you have no intention of--”

He cut himself off and almost smacked himself in the forehead for being so stupid.

“Dorian?” Josephine asked. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Dorian said. “I’ve just realised exactly how much of a fool I am. That’s all.”

Josephine nodded, clearly not sure where he was coming from.

“I wish you and Blackwall all the best,” Dorian said, and he didn’t wait for her to flush before heading back to his room to chastise himself.

* * *

* * *

 

Evie didn’t necessarily  _ avoid  _ Cullen while she finished packing, but it was so very easy to just go nowhere near his office. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had a crush on someone, let alone a templar. She also didn’t really want to think about it. So instead she focused on packing.

And then she got to her Inquisition uniform.

“Maker, these things are hideous,” she said, spreading it out on her bed.

“Are they really?” Ella asked, holding up her own. She’d been exempt from wearing it and Evie envied her for that.

“On me at least,” Evie said. “I bet Vivienne’s livid too.”

Vivienne, she realised, could probably also convince Josephine to let them out of wearing them. And so she put down her packing and headed into the keep. Vivienne was sitting in her crow’s nest of quarters, inspecting several different outfits for packing.

“Oh, Evelyn darling, I’m so sorry about the uniforms,” Vivienne said as soon as she noticed Evie. Evie was prepared to consider Vivienne’s initial volley of insult as providence, but then realised Vivienne’s own uniform was stretched on one of her chairs. “They’re just awful with your colouring.”

“I know,” Evie said. “But I bet Josephine would listen to you if you told her we shouldn’t all wear them.”

“But why shouldn’t we?” Vivienne asked. “Surely we ought to present a unified front as an Inquisition.”

Evie nodded slowly. “Or,” she said, and Vivienne arched an eyebrow at her. “Or if we all turn up in uniform, it’ll look like an invasion. And Orlais is already dealing with enough of that.”

“True,” Vivienne acknowledged. “What would you propose instead?”

“Those of us who might have a reason to be at the Winter Palace without the Inquisition interfering should dress accordingly and try to blend in to the crowd,” Evie said. “Put the Orlesians more at ease.”

“Hmm,” Vivienne said. “So it would be myself, of course, Dorian, Cassandra, you as the daughter of a Marcher Bann, Varric as the most popular novelist in Orlais…yes that would cut down on the Inquisition’s visible presence, wouldn’t it?”

Evie waited, and tried not to chew on her lip.

“I think it’s a marvellous idea, my dear,” Vivienne said. “I can write all our measurements to my seamstress, and have the appropriate gowns and suits waiting for us when we reach Halamshiral.”

Evie let out a sigh of relief that made Vivienne smirk.

“Of course, I’ve already sent my own measurements, so I’ll need to acquire the others’,” Vivienne said.

Evie snorted. “You weren’t going to wear your uniform anyway, were you,” she guessed.

“Over Andraste’s smouldering corpse,” Vivienne replied. She smiled coyly. “But you have to tell Josephine.”

Evie nodded in agreement and bounded down the stairs into the hall and towards Josephine’s office. Josephine was in the process of packing her important documents but smiled when she saw Evie.

“Lady Trevelyan!” she said. “What a surprise!”

“Hi, Josie,” Evie said, taking her cue from Max as usual. “I need to talk to you about the Winter Palace.”

“Of course,” Josephine said. “They do let mages in, I promise.”

“I know,” Evie said. “That’s not it. It’s that Vivienne and I have--”

She had to take a moment to collect herself before she could actually say the words.

“Vivienne and I have agreed,” and she had to pause to let the taste leave her mouth. “That it will look like the Inquisition is invading the Orlesian court if we all show up in uniform.”

Josephine sighed and set her papers down. “I was worried about that.”

“But we’ve also found a solution,” Evie said. “Those of us who could’ve conceivably been there on our own volition will dress accordingly and collect what information we can.”

Josephine blinked. “Oh,” she said. “But how will we get you gowns and--”

“Vivienne is writing to her seamstress,” Evie said. “To have them delivered to the palace we’re staying in before the ball.”

“Very well,” Josephine said. She nodded. “I need to go check with the King to see if he will be accompanying us as far as Halamshiral.”

“Of course,” Evie said, trying not to look too giddy about the fact her plan had worked and she didn’t have to wear the stupid uniform in Orlais. Dorian would be over the moon as well, she was sure, and headed off to the library to find him.

Instead, she found Grand Enchanter Fiona, who was looking at the stairs to the rookery wistfully. Evie warred with herself a moment, and then approached.

“Fiona,” she said.

“Oh, Evelyn,” Fiona replied, dragging her gaze away. “How are you?”

Evie shrugged. “I realised I owe you an apology. I believed that you were trying to kill me when you sent me to the Conclave, and I realise now that it’s probably not true.”

Fiona’s smile was strained. “I was not trying to kill you,” she confirmed. “And I apologise as well for suspecting that you had anything to do with the disaster at the Conclave yourself. We ought to be allies, you and I, since we wish for the same things.”

“I have trouble with politics,” Evie admitted. “And with mages who value political works and gains beyond just getting us freedom.”

“You must abhor Warden-Commander Amell,” Fiona said, and her eyes darted back to the stairs. Evie listened closely and suddenly caught the king’s laugh from the rookery, along with Leliana’s, and a syrupy giggle that had to be Solona’s.

“She…isn’t my favourite person,” Evie admitted. “Do you like her?”

“How can I not?” Fiona asked. “My son is in love with her.”

Evie blinked, and then slowly the implication of Fiona’s words sank in. “I’m sorry, your – Alistair Theirin is – I’m sorry,  _ what _ ?”

“It is not a well-known secret,” Fiona said.

“Does – does the king know?” Evie asked. Fiona’s sad smile was the only answer Evie needed. “Does Solona?”

“I think that perhaps she suspects,” Fiona said. “But only because she asked me several times how I managed to stop being a Grey Warden.”

“Why does she care?” Evie asked.

Fiona sighed. “Grey Wardens find it nearly impossible to have children,” she said.

“And Solona is a Grey Warden married to the king,” Evie said in sudden understanding. Fiona nodded. “That sounds like an awful situation to be in.”

“Yes, I imagine so,” Fiona said.

Evie shook her head in disbelief and folded her arms. “They turned  _ your  _ son into a templar.”

“He didn’t make it very far,” Fiona said. “And clearly they didn’t manage to poison him against mages.”

Evie still shook her head and felt horrified on Fiona’s behalf. But on the brighter side, she could truly be okay with leaving the care and charge of the Inquisition’s mages to Fiona while she was in Orlais.

* * *

* * *

 

To Cullen’s great dismay, Solona would be accompanying them into Orlais, at which point she would leave with Hawke and Carver and scout ahead to the Western Approach. Cullen was relieved they would be rid of her almost as soon as they crossed the border, because he wasn’t sure he could stand the Orlesians  _ and  _ Solona at once. It was bad enough having to ride near Leliana, Josephine, and Vivienne, who were enthusing about the beauty and splendour they were in for when they reached the Winter Palace.

“You look unhappy, Commander,” Max said, pulling up beside him and grinning.

“I say we simply set fire to the whole palace and start the Orlesian government up from scratch,” Cullen replied. That earned him a shocked, “Commander!” from the three women, but also got him a moment’s quiet as they rode on ahead to avoid him.

Max laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey Giggles!” Varric called from somewhere in their column of travellers. “Get back here! You owe me money!”

Max flushed. “I should…”

He gestured vaguely in Varric’s direction and Cullen nodded. He’d been gone half a minute when a different horse pulled abreast of him. Evelyn looked good on a horse, with solid posture and an ease that was usually only found in riders more experienced than any Circle Mage could hope to be.

“Commander,” she said with a nod in his direction.

It felt too intimate, suddenly, to call her Evelyn again. He could think of her that way, he reasoned, but to actually speak her name aloud - he wasn’t sure he’d be able to say it without whispering.

“Lady Trevelyan,” he acknowledged.

“Could I ask you something?” Evelyn asked, without seeming to notice his use of her title as opposed to her name. And they had been on first name basis, even, until he realised exactly which sort of fool he was.

“Of course,” Cullen said.

“What happened between you and Solona?” Evelyn asked.

Cullen’s heart sank. “It’s not a pleasant story.”

“I didn’t think it would be,” Evelyn replied.

Cullen sighed. “Perhaps after we make camp.”

Evelyn agreed, and dropped back to ride with Ella. Cullen spent the rest of the ride to camp regretting his life choices unto that moment.

The members of the inner circle were well versed in setting up camp and getting food ready, he noted when they stopped. The group of them had spent enough time working together in small factions doing so that it wasn’t really surprising. It still made the commander in him take pride in their ability to work as a team.

He was less pleased when it meant they were set up and supper was cooked well before he’d figured out what he was going to say to Evelyn.

“So,” she said, sitting down beside him with a plate of the fish they’d acquired.

Cullen sighed. “We knew each other back at Kinloch.”

“I got that part,” Evelyn replied, levelling a look at him that indicated he was being obtuse.

“We were eighteen, and… Solona wanted a pet templar to torture,” Cullen said.  Leliana would probably say something about him only telling Evelyn this out of a desire for self-sabotage. “And she got me.”

Evelyn blinked. “Not, like, blood magic or…”

“Never on me,” Cullen replied, scraping a hand over his face. He could see Evelyn glancing down the length of the camp towards the spot where Solona was sitting with Hawke and Carver. He cut her off before she could ask him if the Hero of Ferelden was a blood-mage, or worse, before he could answer. “So she wanted a templar to get back at for all the things that had happened in the Circle since she was thirteen, and I fell in love with her, and the Knight-Commander didn’t know, but the First Enchanter knew at least that she was toying with me, and to keep her in check, or remind her the problems there would always be between a mage and a templar, or – honestly I don’t know at this point – he had me assigned as the templar to watch over her Harrowing.”

He could see the implications sink in in Evelyn’s face. For Solona, it had been nothing more than an assured way to pass her Harrowing, because her pet templar would never. And for him, it was torture.

“And then, I don’t know, days later her best friend used blood-magic to try and get out of the Circle, Solona got caught in the accusations, and conscripted by the Grey Wardens, and vanished,” Cullen continued. “We all thought she’d died at Ostagar during the Blight – it was a fortress just north of the Kocari Wilds that was completely overrun by darkspawn. The king died, and according to reports, all of the Grey Wardens.”

Evelyn looked mildly horrified, and Cullen realised he didn’t know what kind of news they’d gotten of the Blight in Ostwick. Kirkwall had gotten lots, as there had been floods of refugees.

“But there was a mage in the Circle, Uldred, who’d been a vocal member of the College of Libertarians,” Cullen continued. Evelyn shifted awkwardly. “And he tried to overthrow the Circle with blood-magic. They killed almost all of the templars, and turned some of them and many of the other mages into abominations, and the few of us who survived, they tormented. I spent days? Or weeks? I don’t really know anymore, being preyed upon by a desire demon that decided to look like Solona, until suddenly the desire demon said that I was corrupted and should be killed.”

“What changed?” Evelyn asked, still looking horrified.

“It was actually Solona,” Cullen replied. “Leliana stopped her from killing me, and I owe my life to her to this day.”

Evelyn glanced at the spymaster, sitting with Josephine and Vivienne and discussing the wonders of Orlais still, even though surely they ought to have run out by now. “I didn’t realise you’d known Leliana that long as well.”

“It was the only time we’d ever met,” Cullen replied. He sighed. He had to tell her the rest, since he’d simply painted Solona in the worst light possible. “I said they should invoke the Right of Annulment.”

Evelyn looked away from Leliana so quickly Cullen was a little concerned she was going to damage her neck. “What?”

“During the Blight, with Uldred turned into a pride abomination, and all the other mages who’d fallen, and the dead templars, I told them that they should perform the Right of Annulment,” he said. “But Solona checked first, and managed to save the First Enchanter, and the Circle. She wouldn’t have, if she’d listened to me, so I suppose we can thank Andraste for that.”

“And then you got transferred into Kirkwall,” Evelyn continued in a soft voice. “Where Knight-Commander Meredith would’ve reinforced every bad idea you’d ever had about mages.”

“She certainly tried,” Cullen replied. “And on a personal level, it worked, although I always did what I could not to let any fears or hatred show during my professional duties as a templar.”

“And you still hate mages?” Evelyn asked. “I probably would.”

“No, I don’t,” Cullen replied. “I – as a child I was never as afraid of magic as the chantry told me I should be. And it always seemed sort of… sad, the mages shut up in a tower, a danger to themselves and others, but in danger  _ from  _ others who would see them harmed because of their abilities. I became a templar to protect people, and I managed to remember that, in Kirkwall. In time.”

“It is sad,” Evelyn said. “It’s why I joined the College of Libertarians in the first place. I hadn’t set foot outside the Circle since I was eight.”

Cullen didn’t get a chance to respond because Varric and Max suddenly appeared and sat down on either side of them.

“You two looked too serious,” Varric said. “Lighten up! We’re going to a ball! Where there’s going to be an attempted assassination, and a bunch of Orlesians, but hey! A ball!”

“Yeah, it should be fun!” Max agreed.

“I’ve never been to a ball,” Evelyn replied. Max gasped in horror and started recounting all of the wonderful tales he had of balls past, though Cullen noted there was an overwhelming number of stories that he couldn’t quite remember because he’d been very drunk at the time, or balls he’d spent half of in the servants’ quarters, bedding the host’s son. Max realised this the same time the rest of them did, and he fell silent for a moment.

“We’re in a spot of trouble, aren’t we?” he asked.

“I think we have been since the sky opened up, Giggles,” Varric said. “What more could an Orlesian ball do to us?”

  
  



	18. Halamshiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, a gala is attended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is one more chapter in Part 2, after which point I'm dreadfully sorry, but this fic will be on a brief hiatus. The month of March is going to attempt to stabmurder me, as I have a meeting with my thesis advisor on the 7th (yikes he's very German and fond of analysis and I'm a researcher and narrative historian and this is going to end So Badly), a Latin test on March 14, two analytical source criticisms due March 26, a presentation on paleography for a document I haven't selected yet due the 1st of April, and a commentary on four different lectures due on April 6th. And also I still have to attend classes. So, erm, yes. There will be another chapter next Monday, but after that don't expect me back for a few weeks while I get my life together because Grad School.

Ella could now add “palace” to her list of interesting places she’d slept. The Orlesian noble who’d agreed to host the Inquisition before the ball had such a large palace to her name that they each got their own rooms, in one wing of the palace. Everything was decorated in marble and gold and crystal and glimmered like a lake at sunset. Ella thought it was beautiful.

“Alright,” Josephine said. “Everyone take a moment to freshen up, and then we will meet in the library to discuss strategy.”

They headed for the rooms they’d been given, and Ella gaped. Her room was substantially larger than the one she shared with Evie in Skyhold, and the window overlooked a stunning rose garden that was full of blooms despite the fact it was also dusted in snow. Ella wanted to walk in it, but she also wanted to wash off all the mud on her person and put on clean clothes.

The latter won out over the former, and as soon as she’d rinsed the mud out of her hair, she braided it back. She didn’t have nearly enough hair to do something fun with it, the way Evie did. Not that Evie was capable of doing fun things to her own hair, but that was why she had Ella.

There were so many rooms and hallways that Ella got lost looking for the library and only found it when she ran headfirst into Cole.

“The whole building sparkles,” Cole said. “It’s proud.”

“Do you know where the library is?” Ella asked. Cole pointed at the door to Ella’s right. “Why haven’t you gone in?”

“Josephine is full of stress,” Cole replied.

“Probably because no one’s shown up yet,” Ella suggested. “She’d be less stressed if you went in.”

“Do you think so?” Cole asked, his eyes going wide. Ella linked her elbow with his and steered him into the library. To Ella’s relief, Josephine did seem relieved to see them.

They were joined shortly thereafter by Evie and Dorian, and then Max, Leliana, and Cullen, and finally the rest of their group. Ella found herself squished to the back next to Bull, which she was just fine with - especially when he traced one large finger down her spine and left his hand resting on the small of her back.

“Alright,” Josephine said. “Now, as some of you may know, not all of us will be attending the ball dressed in Inquisition uniforms. Vivienne, have the clothes arrived?”

“Of course, my dear,” Vivienne replied.

“So what remains to be decided is who will walk in with the Inquisitor,” Josephine said. “This will make a statement to the whole of the Orlesian court and we cannot afford to mess this up.”

“Send Chuckles, Buttercup, and Violet,” Varric suggested. At the mention of her name, Bull gently pinched Ella’s ass. She hoped her squeak was interpreted as a response to Varric’s words.

“Of course, send the Inquisitor into the Orlesian court flanked by three elves,” Josephine said. Josephine sarcastic, Ella realised, was deadly. “I cannot possibly see how this statement would be misinterpreted.”

“Although, actually,” Bull piped up. “The rest of us can walk in in our Inquisition uniforms, and sure I’ll get stared at, but I won’t get turned away. The elves…”

Josephine blinked, and suddenly looked horrified. “Of course,” she said. “I suppose that settles it then. The elves of the Inquisition will accompany the Inquisitor into Halamshiral.”

“To be fair, it does make a statement,” Max said. “The statement might be ‘fuck you, Orlais’, but it is still a statement.”

Josephine pinched the bridge of her nose for a moment, and then nodded. She could handle anyone, Ella had learned, except the members of the inner circle of the Inquisition, who refused to be handled.

Except for Ella, who was being fondled at that moment.

Not that she minded. They’d spent the entire ride to Orlais teasing – a pat on the knee that was just a bit too high to be the knee, squeezing past each other just close enough that physical contact was necessary, accidentally stumbling upon each other while they bathed. Ella had had enough.

She waited until Josephine dismissed them, and excused herself from supper before heading directly to her assigned room. She didn’t grin when she overheard Bull excusing himself as well, or giggle when he caught up to her in the corridor. She wanted to, but maintained some semblance of adulthood while he followed her into her room.

As soon as the door was closed, Ella reached for him, trying to figure out the easiest way to reach his mouth; but before she could try anything, he took hold of her waist. His hands were so large they were only a hairsbreadth from touching each other.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked.

“Very,” Ella replied.

Bull smirked and grabbed her wrists with one hand, stretching her arms over her head while he backed her into the wall. Ella did giggle then. This was going to be fun.

* * *

* * *

Evie hadn’t opened the chest in her room that contained her ballgown. She wasn’t entirely sure she trusted Vivienne to have done right by her, and she didn’t want to turn into the poster child of what not to wear at an Orlesian ball. Then again, maybe Vivienne had decided that whatever she put Evie in would reflect upon her and her seamstress so she’d done something nice.

Evie distracted herself by looking around the room she’d been given. From the gilt mirrors and the marble fireplace down to the polished wood floor it reminded her exactly of her room in the Trevelyan Estate in Ostwick, and that wasn’t particularly a good reminder.

She was distracted from this particularly discomfiting reminder by a knock on the door. Since she hadn’t bothered to change out of her nightshirt, and a truly indecent amount of her legs was visible, she cleared her throat and asked who was there without inviting them in.

_ “ _ Lady Trevelyan?  _ Il y a le petit-déjeuner dans le salle à manger, si vous voulez.” _

“Thank you,” Evie said, and she heard the servant walk away. She wasn’t hungry, but she also didn’t want to open the chest, and so she settled for sitting and staring at it. Finally, after she got tired of listening to everyone else cross up and down the hallway outside her door, talking to each other about the ball that night and the potential for disaster, she got up the nerve.

She was greeted by an ocean of green and gold silk. Evie pulled it out of the chest slowly, taking care not to disrupt the fabric or the way it had been lying in the chest – which she assumed was very carefully placed. It would leave her shoulders bare and give her the fullest skirt she’d ever worn in her life. The gold swathe of fabric attached as close as it could get to the shoulder and crossed her body before falling into the back of the dress. Evie lay it on her bed and checked inside the chest. There was a pair of shoes that were perfect for dancing as well, and a small sachet of what sounded like metal when Evie picked it up. She opened it and pulled out the note inside.

_ My dear, I have no use for these any longer, but they should match your dress impeccably. _

She set Vivienne’s note down and poured the jewelled and sparkly hairpins onto the bedspread. Vivienne was right, they did match. Evie needed Ella to come do her hair.

Fortunately, the next time someone knocked on her door, it was the woman in question. Unlike the servant who’d offered breakfast, Ella simply let herself in, and gasped at the dress on the bed.

“I know,” Evie said. “I’ve never got to wear anything that pretty.”

“I get to do your hair, right?” Ella asked, and Evie nodded. Ella immediately steered her over to the vanity and got to work. “I slept with Bull.”

Evie choked on her own tongue and tried to spin around to stare at Ella’s actual face rather than the reflection in the mirror, but Ella hissed at her and so Evie stayed put and let her keep pulling at her hair.

“And?” Evie asked, glancing at Ella’s perfectly serene face in the mirror.

“And what?” Ella asked.

“How was sleeping with a Qunari?” Evie asked, more interested than she had any right to be. She reasoned it was because she’d slept with precisely one person, and that had been a human.

“Results were inconclusive,” Ella said, lifting her shoulder. “I’ll have to do more research.”

Evie couldn’t help the giggle she let out, and was glad Ella was grinning as well.

By the time Ella finished with her hair, and Evie got into the dress and did her makeup, she didn’t feel like herself, and she didn’t recognise the woman in the mirror. It was an entirely foreign concept to her. She looked like she belonged to the title “Lady” and like she’d need to be turning suitors away at every opportunity throughout the ball. Although maybe she could turn it to her advantage for spying. Maybe it would help her keep an ear out for anything suspicious and clues to the duchess’s would-be assassin.

They were summoned to the library for one last set of instructions before the ball. Evie nervously twirled the last piece of her – costume. It was a costume, wasn’t it? It wasn’t an outfit – in her hands as she headed down the stairs. Her dress swished pleasantly and made the softest, most delightful whispering noises where it skimmed the floor. Fortunately, Orlesians kept their floors polished and clean.

Evie heard the voices in the library as she approached and took a deep breath before stepping inside. The entire Inquisition stared at her when she stepped in, their jaws slack, except for Ella, who simply looked pleased. As Evie had predicted, Ella looked just fine in the Inquisition uniform.

“Lady Trevelyan,” Josephine said, the first to gather her voice. “You look--”

“Too much, right?” Evie asked, smoothing the silk of her dress with her gloves.

“No!” Josephine insisted, faintly pink in the face. To Evie’s confusion, several of the people of the Inquisition had protested her idea of looking over the top. “I imagine you will blend right in to Orlesian society.”

“So long as I don’t speak to them,” Evie said, looking down at the mask she was holding, and then glancing up and accidentally making eye-contact with Cullen. He looked like someone had smacked him in the face and he still didn’t know what to do about it.

“Would you all stop staring at my sister and tell us what we need to do?” Max suggested.

There was a great deal of rustling fabric as everyone turned away and looked back at the advisors. Cullen took the longest to return to attention, Evie noticed.

They would enter the palace in stages – the people who didn’t look like the Inquisition first, the Inquisition members who wouldn’t be presented with the Inquisitor second, and finally the Inquisitor and his companions. While they all played nice at the ball, they would be looking for clues as to who was going to attempt to assassinate the empress, and looking for agents of Corypheus, the Venatori, and the Red Templars. Meanwhile, there would be Inquisition soldiers infiltrating the palace to provide support, and hopefully, if everything worked out at the end of the night, they would have successfully managed to prevent an assassination and stop the Orlesian civil war of succession.

* * *

* * *

It was the first time Max could remember being at a ball where he didn’t immediately cause a family scandal or cast shame on the name Trevelyan. And fortunately, he hadn’t ever been allowed to attend Orlesian fetes before, and so he didn’t know any of the rank and file attending the Winter Palace. His father had done well to keep him trapped in the Free Marches, and Isaac had only let him leave the Free Marches for Antiva and Rivain, so he wasn’t going to run into anyone he knew. Which was a blessing.

“You look nervous,” Dorian commented when Max found him in the garden. Apparently, Vivienne had attempted to choose an outfit for Dorian, and he’d laughed in her face before dressing himself entirely in black with silver accents and a horribly inconvenient shoulder cape that made it difficult for Max to stare at his arms.

“Do I?” Max asked, tearing his gaze away from Dorian’s body.

“I often have that effect on people, but sadly I think your nerves stem from something besides my dashing good looks,” Dorian replied.

Dorian hadn’t flirted like this with him in a long time, and it gave Max pause. If ever there was a place where Max being besotted with a Tevinter mage could reflect poorly on him – as Dorian feared – it was at the Winter Palace, and yet…

“I think if I was allowed to indulge in your dashing good looks, my nerves might vanish,” Max said.

“Perhaps you should be allowed,” Dorian said quietly, and Max’s heart lurched. “We’ll talk later, perhaps?”

“My room is just across the hall from yours,” Max replied.

“I had noticed, thank you,” Dorian said. “Now off you go, go find out who’s behind all this.”

Max wasn’t sure he’d actually be able to concentrate on anything when he was confronted with the possibility of talking to Dorian behind closed doors as soon as this was over.

But that was the important part. It was as soon as it was over, and not a moment before. And so he’d have to concentrate and find out what was going on. He was a little surprised that no one noticed him climb up the trellis to the library, but the whole evening seemed to be in the reversal of his standard fortunes at balls. He really did have some disastrous greatest hits as far as balls were concerned, and most of them he only knew second-hand.

No, that wasn’t true. It wasn’t most of them, because he vividly remembered every time he’d been caught in bed with a man he oughtn’t have been sleeping with in the first place. The only bright side that afforded was that it prompted Isaac to temporarily banish him to Antiva, and he’d gotten to be with someone who actually cared for him for a while.

But this wasn’t the time to dwell, he reminded himself, flipping through loose papers on the tables in the imperial library. Dorian would love this room, he decided. Books everywhere. He’d probably be less thrilled that there was certain evidence the elven servants were going missing and that the Empress had a suspicious magical advisor.

When the bell rang, Max had to hurry to get back to the ballroom in time. He didn’t make it until the second bell, which for some reason got him approving nods from the Orlesian nobles nearby. He tried not to dwell on that and headed into the ballroom, only to be confronted immediately by Leliana.

“The word is that Celine has a magical advisor,” she said.

“I thought she had Vivienne,” Max said.

“We have Vivienne,” Leliana replied, glancing at a spot a few yards away where Vivienne was leaning on a table with some other Orlesians talking about who knew what.

“So what do I need to know about this magical advisor?” Max asked. “Venatori, I’m assuming? Probably the assassin?”

“I don’t think Tevinter would be her style,” Leliana said.

“Wait, do you know--”

Max didn’t get to finish his question, because a woman was approaching them. She was lovely and elegant, but in a dangerous way. She was elegant the way the curve of a raven’s beak was elegant, and beautiful the way an unchecked forest was beautiful. All this despite her Orlesian finery.

“Morrigan,” Leliana said, her voice as cold as Max had ever heard it.

“Chantry mouse,” the woman replied, scanning Leliana. “What  _ are  _ you wearing?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Leliana said, eyeing her. “A red velvet dress? Just for me?”

To Max’s surprise, the woman, Morrigan, flushed just slightly. Slightly enough that it wasn’t that noticeable, but it was definitely there.

“I take it you are he?” Morrigan asked, turning her attention to Max. “The Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor?”

“I’m guessing you’re Celine’s magical advisor,” Max said.

“’Tis true,” Morrigan replied. “And you’re not the only one looking out for assassins. I’d be happy to speak to you for a moment. Alone.”

She walked away into the ballroom, leaving Max and Leliana to stare after her.

“Erm…” Max started. “An old friend?”

“She…travelled with us during the Blight,” Leliana said. “She and Solona are very close. Or they were.”

“I don’t honestly know if that’s an endorsement or an indictment,” Max replied.

“You know? I don’t either,” Leliana said. “But you should hear what she has to say.”

Max nodded, and went to find the witch.

* * *

* * *

Cullen hated Orlais. He hated it with every fibre of his being, hated it like he was developing an allergy. At least that was how it felt as his whole person itched while he was swarmed by intensely over-interested Orlesian noblewomen and several over-interested Orlesian noblemen. They kept fawning over him, some even going so far as to touch unwelcomely, and Leliana just kept laughing at him and not helping.

Cullen wanted to order the soldiers to infiltrate and put the whole place on lockdown and deal with the assassination attempt that way. But he also didn’t want Josephine to murder him. He didn’t think she’d pick an easy, pleasant way like a sword through the gut. She’d do something much worse, and Cullen didn’t want to give his imagination reason to head that direction.

Although it might have been more pleasant than the Orlesians fawning on him.

“Tell me, are you married, Commander?” a woman with a Marcher accent asked from behind a mask. Cullen offered only an awkward half-smile and avoided eye contact. “Would you care to dance?”

“No, thank you,” he replied, wondering how much trouble he’d get in if he started drinking.

The others came and went in their group around him, but the Marcher woman stayed put. He started with wine.

“You look uncomfortable, Commander,” a different, though eerily similar, Marcher voice said, and Cullen looked up. At least he recognised this one, or her green and gold dress. It made Evelyn look soft to the touch, which he doubted was true, but it was a pleasant effect.

“Evelyn,” he breathed, straightening up and putting the wine down. He only realised his use of her first name belatedly.

“Have you danced with any of your admirers yet?” Evelyn asked. The little he could see of her eyes through the golden mask sparkled with amusement at his misfortune.

“As if you haven’t been fending off suitors all evening,” Cullen replied.

“Of course,” Evelyn replied with a casual lift of her bare shoulder. Cullen didn’t stare at the freckles there, or tried valiantly not to and failed horribly. He wasn’t sure which. “But I’m better at the actual fending than you are, apparently.”

“You also weren’t specifically stationed somewhere,” Cullen grumbled, and was rewarded with Evelyn laughing.

Their conversation was interrupted by the other Marcher woman tapping Cullen on the shoulder with one gloved finger. Cullen glanced at her and then went back to looking at Evelyn. He knew it was rude but at this point didn’t care.

“Who is this?” the Marcher woman asked.

“Lady Trevelyan is the Inquisitor’s sister,” Cullen said, and realised as he did that he was now actively staring at Evelyn, which was just about as rude as ignoring the Marcher woman. She was glancing around the ball and Cullen wondered if she’d paused to dance with anyone before she started fending off suitors. Sparring was a sort of dance, wasn’t it? Perhaps he should ask her if she wanted to—

“Oh you do know who I am!” the Marcher woman said, interrupting any fanciful thoughts Cullen was having. “I thought for a moment I was prattling on without you knowing I’m Maxwell’s sister!”

Most of Evelyn’s face was covered by a mask, but the part Cullen could see – her cheeks, her mouth, her chin – drained of blood entirely while they both turned to look at the Marcher woman.

“It’s so lovely to meet you. Lady Miriam Trevelyan, the Inquisitor’s sister,” the Marcher woman said, curtseying slightly in Evelyn’s direction. “How do you know the Commander?”

Cullen opened his mouth to – to do what? Yell at Miriam Trevelyan? Ask Evelyn if she was alright? Tell Miriam she was speaking to her own sister like they were strangers? They  _ were _ strangers, if he remembered correctly.

“Oh, it’s  _ so  _ nice to meet you!” Evelyn said in a saccharine voice Cullen wouldn’t have been surprised to learn she stole from Solona. “It must be  _ so  _ lovely to be the Inquisitor’s sister! Tell me, how is he?”

“He’s fine?” Miriam said. She sounded like she knew it was a trap, but she’d been playing the Game for a long time, Cullen remembered suddenly, and hadn’t died yet.

“And are you his younger sister? Older sister?” Evelyn asked.

“Just slightly older,” Miriam said. Cullen tried to remember if he knew the actual age difference. He was fairly certain the oldest Trevelyan, the current Bann Isaac Trevelyan, was fifteen years older than Max and Evelyn. At best, Miriam might be Cullen’s age. “We’re practically twins.”

“Oh  _ are  _ you?” Evelyn asked, and Cullen started to smell smoke.

“Evelyn,” he said quietly, reaching out to put a hand on her back and hopefully steer her out into the garden and far away from Miriam. But she threw up a hand and smacked him in the chest. The tips of the fingers on her gloves were dark with soot.

“Here I’d always heard that Maxwell Trevelyan had an actual twin,” Evelyn said, and Cullen started looking around for reinforcements.

“Who told you that?” Miriam asked, and this time Cullen could hear the nerves in her voice. Evelyn, the family secret. He wondered if they’d buried all evidence of her after she was sent to the Circle. Their mother was already gone by that point, and Evelyn was only eight, so perhaps…Briefly, Cullen tried to imagine what sort of effort it would take to remove Evelyn Trevelyan from the Inquisition, and decided it would be an insurmountable task.

“The name Evelyn Trevelyan doesn’t sound familiar?” Evelyn asked. The tip of her glove, where the back of her hand was still pressed against Cullen’s chest, was now smoking. “At all?”

“Where did you hear that name?” Miriam asked, now obviously afraid someone had uncovered their family secret.

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed. “It’s  _ my  _ name, sister,” she said.

While Miriam gaped at her in complete shock, Evelyn loosed a green ribbon from her hair that matched her dress, and took one of the sparkling gold and green pins from the intricate coils Ella had fixed there. Before Cullen or Miriam could react, Evelyn had fashioned the ribbon into a rosette and pinned it to Cullen’s blue Inquisition sash with the hairpin.

“There,” Evelyn said. “A lady’s favour. Hopefully it’ll keep the scavengers away.”

And then she turned on her heel and stormed towards the garden.

Despite the music and the noise of the ball all around them, there was complete silence in Cullen and Miriam’s corner.

“She’s not actually Evelyn Trevelyan,” Miriam tried, with false cheer in her voice. “That would be preposterous. She’d have to be an apostate and--”

“Evelyn’s been part of the Inquisition for several months,” Cullen interrupted. “I’m honoured to call her a friend.”

Even if he wanted quite a lot more than that.

“But she’s an apostate,” Miriam said, slightly shrill. “She shouldn’t be in the Winter Palace, let alone the Inquisition.”

“There are several hundred apostates in the Inquisition,” Cullen said. “And I’m starting to understand why Max insisted that we not contact his family.”

Miriam’s eyes widened behind her mask. She didn’t have Max and Evelyn’s lovely green eyes.

“Oh, I see,” she said coolly. “You and Max are…I can’t say I’m surprised. But both of them?  _ That’s  _ surprising.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow at her. “I don’t think that’s any of your business. But it is fortunate they inherited their mother’s looks.”

Josephine was absolutely going to murder him.

Miriam didn’t say anything to end the conversation, she simply left. Cullen wanted to head to the garden and find Evelyn, make sure she was okay, but he was waylaid by Max appearing.

“So we have a problem,” he said. He glanced at the table next to Cullen. “Is that wine? Great.”

He downed most of the glass there and then looked back at Cullen.

“Wait, did you get a lady’s favour?” he asked.

“Erm…what’s the problem you found?” Cullen asked.

“Oh, right, a member of the Council of Heralds has been murdered with a Chalons family dagger, which seems way too obvious to have actually been Gaspard, and also there was a harlequin assassin,” Max said. “Harlequin is dead, but I don’t think the assassin we’re looking for is Venatori. I think they might be Orlesian.”

“Well shit,” Cullen replied.

“So what’s the problem you found?” Max asked, eyeing the rosette Evelyn had pinned to him.

“Erm, I might have implied to your sister that I am…intimately involved with both Evelyn and yourself,” Cullen said, grimacing.

Max frowned. “I’m fairly certain Evie would know which parts of that were or were not true.”

“Not your sister Evelyn,” Cullen replied.

It took Max a moment, and then his eyes widened. “Oh,” he said. “Oh shit.”

“Precisely,” Cullen replied.

“Josie’s going to murder you,” Max said.

“I know,” Cullen said.

“Was Evie here for that?” Max asked suddenly.

“Not for the implications, but she certainly had to interact with Miriam. I was going to go check to make sure she’s alright,” Cullen said.

“I’ve got it,” Max said. “But thanks. Just maybe…avoid everyone in my family aside from me and Evie?”

“Don’t worry,” Cullen assured him. “I will.”  

* * *

* * *

Max found Evie in the lower gardens, sitting on a stone bench next to the balcony that afforded her a view of the countryside around Halamshiral. She’d taken off her gloves and was worrying them in her lap, and when he sat beside her he realised it was because the fingertips were all burnt. But she wasn’t crying - at least not at that moment - so Max took that as a possible good sign.

“Hey,” he said softly, sitting down beside her.

“She asked where I’d heard ‘that name’, Max,” Evie said. “Has it really been so bad since Isaac took over the family that my name is only spoken in hushed whispers?”

Max wanted to tell her that wasn’t the case. That there wasn’t a single person in their family who’d cast her aside, and decided they were better off pretending to never have known anyone named Evelyn Trevelyan. But he also didn’t want to lie to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead.

“And you’re the family assassin,” Evie said. She kept her voice low enough that the rest of the people in the garden couldn’t hear her, but Max still flinched. “So we each got half of our mother’s traits, did we? I got the magic, you got the profession.”

“It looks like,” Max agreed, even though he didn’t want to.

Evie didn’t say anything for a long moment, and smoothed the charcoal on her gloves. “It’s going to shock Isaac to know we were here, isn’t it? To know we were in Halamshiral, the most hated of his siblings.”

“Probably,” Max agreed, although he hadn’t previously thought about it. He’d been too distracted by Dorian.

“Good,” Evie said, and she stood up, running her pinkie fingers under her eyes to clear up any lingering tears. “I hope it kills him.”

She sounded vehement, and Max realised he couldn’t blame her. And, if he was being entirely honest with himself, he wanted that as well.

“So, what do we have to do to get out of this awful place?” Evie asked.

“Sneak into the royal wing,” Max said. “Either Gaspard or Briala is up to something awful, and the empress doesn’t seem willing to see clearly about either of them.”

“So you need a key,” Evie said. “Or a distraction.”

“Just a distraction,” Max said. “I can pick the locks.”

Evie nodded, and to Max’s slight concern, smiled. “Leave that to me.”


	19. Wicked Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, an empire's fate is decided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes the title is a pun.

Ella didn’t like the Winter Palace. It was fancier than the palace where they were staying, but the looks she got from the Orlesian nobles, and from the elven servants, and even from Ambassador Briala, were horrifying. She shrank away from all of them, and retreated to a room off the gardens where they were keeping the food and the drinks. Her Inquisition uniform protected her from being out-rightly shunned at the very least.

And Bull was propping up a wall next to the food, so at least there was that.

“You look uncomfortable,” he said when Ella leaned next to him and slowly ate a cluster of grapes, scanning the nobles. She hadn’t seen a trace of Evie or Dorian.

“I’m an elf in an Orlesian palace,” Ella pointed out, offering him a few grapes. Her fingers brushed against the skin of his palm while she placed the grapes there, and a shiver went down her spine remembering the feel of those same hands against the bare skin of her waist only the night before.

“A hot elf,” Bull said, and Ella pressed her lips together to keep from grinning.

“I think that sort of makes it worse,” she said. Bull snorted, and they drew stares from a cluster of nobles, who proceeded to whisper behind their fans. “And I think you’re biased.”

“Nah,” Bull said. “Not biased. Just lucky.”

The tips of Ella’s ears burned hot and she saw Bull smirk out of the corner of her eye.

“So, uh, what are you doing later?” he asked.

Ella considered her answer and caught sight of Max at the other end of the room, beckoning her as subtly as possible. Varric was next to him, looking amused by whatever he was observing. Ella wondered if it was her and Bull, and if he had money on the outcome.

“You, probably,” Ella replied, and darted away through the crowd before Bull could reply. She glanced over her shoulder when she caught up to Max and saw Bull leaning against the wall exactly where she’d left him, but his eye was glued to her figure. Ella paused for a wink, and then followed Max into the vestibule.

On their way through, they collected Cassandra, and then passed Evie, who was flirting up a storm with an imperial guard and leaving the door to the royal wing wide open. Max got the door open in a fraction of the time it would’ve taken Ella, and then they were through, into the true guts of the palace.

“What are we looking for?” Cassandra asked.

“Evidence that Gaspard and Briala are up to something shady,” Max said.

“I think you can tell that just by looking at them, Giggles,” Varric said. Ella couldn’t help but agree.

“Did you find any evidence in the servants’ wing?” Cassandra asked.

“Just this,” Max said, pulling a locket out of his pocket and showing it to them. “It was in Celene’s vault.”

“You broke into the duchess’s vault?” Cassandra asked, scandalised.

Max shrugged, but Ella grabbed the locket.

“This is elven,” she said. She’d seen the other girls in her clan give lockets like that to their loved ones. “It’s a love token.”

She’d never had anyone to give one to. She could have, hypothetically, given one to Mahannon, but…it would’ve been a lie and they both would’ve known it.

“Why would Celene have an elven love token in her vault?” Varric asked. “Unless…”

“Unless she still loved Briala after all this time?” Cassandra asked in a suddenly breathless voice.

“What’s got into you, Seeker?” Varric asked while Max knelt to pick the lock on a door. “That sounded almost…romantic?”

Cassandra sniffed. “What you know of romance, Varric, would fit in a teaspoon.”

Ella saw Max’s eyebrow twitch, but he didn’t actually say anything, so she didn’t comment either. But it seemed like Cassandra spent enough time reading Varric’s romance serials when she thought no one was looking that, if Ella had to guess, Cassandra probably thought Varric knew a great deal about romance. And then Max got the door open and any thoughts about Varric, Cassandra, and romance were driven from Ella’s head.

Because it was Celene’s room. And there was a naked man tied to her bed.

“Help?” he implored, as the four of them surrounded his bed.

Ella glanced at the knots. “That was not done properly if it was supposed to be a sex thing,” she said.

“Yeah, also, I thought Celene jousted for the opposition,” Varric said. “If you catch my meaning.”

“It was not precisely opaque,” Cassandra said.

Max ignored all three of them and untied the naked soldier’s bonds.

“Celene could, ah, joust for both teams,” Ella said, frowning at the odd – presumably Fereldan – phrase. “It’s fairly common in humans.”

“You know a lot about human sexuality, Violet?” Varric asked, sounding amused.

Ella shrugged. “I know the humans I’ve slept with were women who later married men.”

Max, Varric, Cassandra, and the naked soldier all stared at her.

“Let’s – let’s put a pin in that one,” Max suggested. “Okay. Soldier. Care to explain your presence?”

The soldier, it turned out, had evidence Celene had orchestrated Gaspard’s attempted coup, in order to successfully accuse him of highest treason once and for all. It seemed unnecessarily convoluted to Ella, but she didn’t comment. Instead, they sent the soldier off to find Cullen – and clothes – and then headed to the next room. To their shock – maybe just Ella’s – they discovered that Briala had sent one of her own people to the royal wing to be killed. And then, finally, to top it all off, they found Gaspard’s mercenary captain waiting to die so that Gaspard could pretend he’d never known him.

But the true shock, to Ella at least, was that the person actually planning on assassinating Celene was Gaspard’s sister. Frankly, she couldn’t quite follow it, and was happy to head back to the ballroom, and to the cakes.

* * *

* * *

 

Max feigned indifference to the whispering of the Orlesian court as Floriane was led away in chains and remanded to Inquisition custody. He could feel the eyes of the entire catalogue of “who’s who” in all Orlais staring into him like they might successfully see his soul if they looked long enough. Out of the corner of his eye, he could even recognise Miriam. And that was going to be a disaster later.

“Your imperial highness, your grace, let’s talk,” he said, ignoring the court and leading the empress, Gaspard, and Briala onto a balcony. To his infinite relief, he was followed by Josephine, Cullen, and Leliana, and then the doors banged shut behind them.

“We cannot believe you would allow the brother of such a traitor to remain in the imperial court, Inquisitor,” the empress said, brandishing a hand at Gaspard.

“Well, considering you lured him here,” Cullen said.

Josephine blanched. “What Commander Cullen means to say, your imperial highness, is--”

“No, he meant what he said,” Max interrupted. “We’ve got a soldier Celene meant to kill waiting to testify.”

Celene gaped at him and Max felt a swell of victory. Isaac, head of the Trevelyan household, had never even managed to get an audience with Celene’s lower ministers.

“And we have the head of the mercenaries that Gaspard tried to arrange to have killed,” Max continued. “Honestly, you people are tiring - and I spend my time trying to deal with an ancient Tevinter Magister turned darkspawn. Who has a pet archdemon.”

“It just shows that neither of them can be trusted to rule over a people when they treat lives so carelessly,” Briala said.

“We have the woman you tried to have killed as well, Briala,” Leliana said in a deadly quiet voice.

“Frankly, if it were up to me, none of the three of you would get to rule,” Max said. “You’re all awful, awful people.”

All three of them stared at him in shock and offence, and Max rolled his eyes. Here he was, the youngest son of a lesser Marcher bann, telling the Empress of fucking Orlais she was tiresome. The world was truly upside down.

“So what do you intend to do with us?” Celene asked, her chin held high while she stared down her nose at Max.

“I say remove Gaspard and Briala from the picture,” Cullen suggested, arms folded, staring imposingly at the three. “Celene’s been the head of the empire for long enough, and stability and continuity would be useful in these times.”

“True,” Max said, while Celene looked smug. “Leliana?”

She considered. “Gaspard is a strong military leader,” she said. “But not so good at politics. With the Inquisition backing him and calling the political shots, it could be a useful change.”

Gaspard’s jaw twitched like he wasn’t sure whether or not he was supposed to be upset by this idea or pleased.

“Josephine?” Max asked.

“Well obviously an elf cannot rule Orlais,” she said. “The nobles of the court would burn the empire to the ground before they allowed that. But if we implemented Leliana’s idea and placed Gaspard on the throne, but gave the puppet strings to Briala? Every elf in Orlais would be indebted to the Inquisition, as well as all the chevaliers. And that’s power we could work with. Unless, of course, some facts about Briala’s past were brought to light for all the elves of Orlais to see…”

At these suggestions, all three looked pale and – unless Max was seeing things – terrified.

“These are your options,” he said. He looked between them. He had a lot of power, as the Herald of Andraste, and as the Inquisitor. But it had never felt more real to him than it did at this moment, deciding the fate of the Orlesian Empire.

And he still couldn’t get the guy he liked to date him.

“Or, there’s a fourth,” Max said.

He could feel Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana exchange looks behind his back, but didn’t pay attention to them.

“What is the fourth option?” Celene asked.

“The three of you suck it the fuck up and work together to fix your fucked up empire before it tears itself apart and contributes directly to the plan of the evil Tevinter magister I have to deal with all the fucking time,” Max snapped. They recoiled. “Because if you don’t do it willingly, you’ll do it as neutered puppets of the Inquisition, and frankly,  _ you  _ don’t want that, and I don’t have time to  _ deal  _ with that. So grow up.”

“You are a child compared to us, Maxwell Trevelyan,” Celene said, looking somewhat incensed for the first time.

“Yeah!” Max agreed, throwing his hands in the air in annoyance. “True! I’m only twenty-six, which means – Maker allowing – I have to live on this fucking continent  _ decades and decades  _ longer than any of you. And the way things are shaping up, I’m going to spend that time  _ for the rest of my life  _ cleaning up your fucking shit! So get your acts together or I’ll burn your Maker-damned empire to the fucking ground! Are we clear?”

There was a beat of silence and Max could feel six pairs of eyes boring into him intently.

“And if we agree to your suggestion, we retain control of Orlais?” the empress asked finally.

“Unless you prove – again – that you can’t be trusted with it,” Max said.

Celene nodded, once. “Very well.”

“Fine,” Gaspard said.

“My people will be in contact,” Briala said.

Max made a hideously exasperated sound, and pulled the elven locket from his coat. “And here, Briala, I believe this used to be yours.” 

“You broke into my vault?” Celene demanded, and whether or not she noticed she was showing her hand in her indignation, Max couldn’t care less. He ignored all of them and tore open the door back to the ballroom. He wanted to be done with this place.

And because he was done with the empress and her assassination attempt, he could talk to Dorian. He could finally,  _ finally,  _ talk to Dorian.

He marched to the head of the ballroom and stood behind the banister, instantly drawing the attention of the court.

“Ladies and gentlemen of Orlais, your empress,” he said, gesturing to Celene.

With perfect statesmanship, she floated up to the banister.

“Good people,” she said. “We are delighted to announce to you that the civil war has finished. We are making our cousin a cherished member of the royal cabinet. And none of this would have been possible without our friend the inquisitor.”

* * *

* * *

 

Dorian stared while Max stood next to Celene. He always cut a dashing figure, but most of the time, Dorian felt like he was nearly alone in noticing. But at that moment, he was simply one in a crowd of a thousand.

“It’s something, isn’t it?” a voice said beside him, and he turned to see Leliana at his elbow.

“What is?” Dorian asked. “Max twisting all of Orlais around his finger?”

The corners of Leliana’s mouth twitched like she was trying not to smile. “Mostly he did it by cursing at them. A lot.”

Dorian just barely stifled a laugh. That sounded like Max.

He looked down at Leliana to ask if it had been as entertaining as it sounded, and when he looked back up, Max had disappeared from the banister. Dorian allowed himself to frown briefly, and headed up the stairs out of the dancefloor.

“The balcony,” Cassandra said quietly. Dorian nearly jumped. “The inquisitor.”

“Who says I wasn’t looking for you, Lady Seeker?” Dorian asked, batting his eyelashes.

Cassandra rolled her eyes but didn’t seem displeased. She gestured at the closed door behind her.

Dorian thanked her and ducked through it to see Max leaning against the railing, his head slightly bowed. He took a moment to admire the long, graceful lines of Max’s back and shoulders, handsome even in the atrocious Inquisition uniforms, and then put a very light hand on Max’s back.

He stiffened for just a moment, and then relaxed when he noticed it was Dorian.

“I see I wasn’t quite as secretive as I’d planned,” he said.

“Darling, you’re currently the most famous and infamous figure in all Orlais,” Dorian said. “I think subtle and secretive have abandoned ship.”

The corner of Max’s mouth curled, and his wicked green eyes flicked over Dorian’s face. They lingered a moment on his lips and Dorian found himself running his tongue over them reflexively.

“You promised we could talk,” Max said.

“I did,” Dorian agreed, a flutter of nerves showering him. “Perhaps we can talk while we dance?”

Max didn’t need a second prod, and took Dorian up in his arms without pausing. Dorian shivered at the heat coming off him, as it soaked through Dorian’s silk shirt in the shape of Max’s hand on his back, and positively burned Dorian’s thighs when a step brought their legs together. Talking, pressed to Max like this, might not be physically possible.

“I don’t care, Dorian,” Max said. “I don’t care about my reputation, and I don’t need you to protect it for me, I just want--”

He broke off when the tempo of the music changed and he had to concentrate on the new steps. Dorian was glad for the pause because he felt a little light-headed.

“Want what, Max?” he asked softly. The new song was slower, and that was going to wreak havoc on Dorian’s nerves.

“You,” Max mumbled. Before Dorian could say anything back, Max spun them around, and laughed, just once. “I mean, for fuck’s sake, I just cursed out the  _ Empress _ of  _ Orlais _ . I think my reputation is pretty ironclad at this point. I can get away with ‘being seen’ in the company of a fucking Tevinter altus.”

“You’d kiss your mother with that mouth?” Dorian asked, because he realised he was suddenly nervous. He’d ended things with Max before they could begin and one kiss, their only kiss, had nearly destroyed him. What would genuine investment in the situation do?

“No,” Max said. He spun them again, and when they fell back into step, he pressed his face against Dorian’s so his lips brushed Dorian’s ear. “But I’d kiss you.”

He pulled back, and searched Dorian’s face for some indication of how his comments had been received. Dorian was fairly certain he looked like he’d just been stunned with a lightning bolt and was starting to melt. He gripped Max’s shoulder, and let go of his hand, fully intending to bury it in Max’s hair and pull him in for a very thorough kiss. Max grinned and leaned closer.

And the doors to their balcony banged open and Vivienne swanned onto the marble.

“Maxwell,  _ darling _ , there you are,” she drawled. “Everyone at court wants to know you. Come.”

She didn’t give him a chance to say anything, before she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back into the ball. Dorian watched him go and while Max gave him the most apologetic and miserable eyes he could muster, Dorian could still feel the heat of Max’s face pressed against his.

* * *

* * *

 

Evie tucked her feet under her while she sat in front of the vanity in her borrowed room. Her hair crackled with little sparks while she ran the comb through it. She hadn’t seen Miriam again after the disastrous encounter with her and Cullen. She hadn’t seen Cullen again either, after she’d been so foolish and impulsive as to give him a lady’s favour.

What kind of nonsense even was that? A lady’s favour, like one of her hair ribbons was going to keep the vultures of Halamshiral from laying their claws into him. Like that was even something he wanted from her.

She huffed and put the comb down, straightening the pins Vivienne had given her. Maybe that was one good thing that could come of this whole disaster. Maybe she and Vivienne could find common ground and even establish a truce. They would never agree on how mages ought to be allowed to exist, but maybe they would be closer to compromise.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock. Assuming Ella or Dorian, Evie didn’t bother to pull on a dressing gown over her nightdress and opened the door. She flushed immediately when it turned out to be Cullen.

He flushed as well, but only after his eyes had fallen involuntarily over her figure, leaving a burning trail in their wake. He was dressed for sleep too, in just his breeches and a loose shirt. It was more than he wore when they sparred most of the time, but somehow it felt more intimate. Maybe, she thought, it was the bare feet.

“E-Evelyn,” he said, almost like he hadn’t expected her to answer the door. Evie blinked at him. “I’m sorry, it just feels…impolite to call you ‘Lady Trevelyan’ after meeting…”

“You can call me Evelyn,” Evie said. “Cullen.”

He nearly smiled and then went back to looking serious and surprised all at once.

“I just didn’t get a chance earlier, and I wanted to check to make sure you were alright,” he said. “After the lesser Lady Trevelyan said everything she said.”

“I’m – well, I’m not  _ fine _ ,” Evie admitted. “But I’ll be fine eventually. It wasn’t like it wasn’t something I knew, I’d just never…never actually experienced it in person.”

Cullen stared at her for a moment. “If I might, as dreadful as the circumstances are that surround us, the Trevelyans are very much the worse for your loss, and I – the Inquisition is infinitely better off.”

“The Inquisition?” Evie asked at a whisper.

Cullen swallowed. “Me,” he managed to say.

Evie didn’t stop herself from standing on her toes and pressing a kiss to his cheek, feeling the scruff along his jaw. It made her heart stammer in her chest, and her hands start to shake. When she curled her fingers into her palms, she could feel them starting to burn.

“Thank you,” she said, while Cullen stood there looking a bit like she’d just smacked him in the face with a staff. “For coming to check on me.”

“You’re,” he said, still stunned. “Welcome.”

Evie nodded once, and then she stood on her toes again and pressed her mouth to his. At his slight inhalation of surprise, his lips parted, but before Evie could back down, and apologise, a very tentative hand touched her back and pulled her in closer. She wanted to wrap her arms around his shoulders, and to feel the muscle she’d been staring at beneath her fingers. She wanted to touch his hair, and drag him into the room and lock the door.

Her fingers kept burning.

At the barest touch of her tongue against his – though she couldn’t be sure which of them had started that – both her hands blazed up to the wrist. Evie drew away from him as quickly as she could while hiding her hands behind her back. He chased her mouth for a second without seeming to realise he was doing it, and only stopped when Evie managed to burst out a panicked, “Goodnight!” and shut the door in his face.

She pressed her back against the door and slid down it to the floor, trying to control the fire on her hands. She’d told Solona Amell that pyromancers weren’t all just one bad day away from incinerating. And after that kiss, this could certainly not be classified as a “bad day.”

Evie was a lot of things, but she didn’t like to think she was a liar.

* * *

* * *

Cullen stared at the closed door with the lingering feel of Evelyn’s back under his hand, and the ghostly impression of her mouth on his, and the fading scent of smoke hanging in the air. Distractedly, he ran his finger over his bottom lip, which still bore the unique taste of Evelyn Trevelyan.

He managed to wander back to his room in a daze, and fell onto his bed still rubbing his lip. The lady’s favour Evelyn had crafted for him and given him at the ball rested on the nightstand, and he picked it up, turning it over in his other hand. 

What was it Varric had said? Evelyn wasn’t a woman? That was it: Evelyn wasn’t a woman, she was a wildfire.

Well, Varric was probably correct. But, he decided, what a lovely way to burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: it's my half-birthday!   
> Less fun fact: this story is now officially on hiatus for the remainder of March. 
> 
> Weird fact: My dad got so fed up with the bad things that routinely happened on his actual birthday that we now - and for the past seven years - observe his birthday on his half-birthday rather than the actual date of his birth.


	20. Part Three: What Pride Had Wrought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9:37 Dragon, Antiva City

Max turned the letter over and over again in his hands until he’d worn the edges down to nothing and Zevran had to pull it away from him.

“He’s summoning me back to Ostwick,” Max said, betting that Zevran would understand that by “he” Max meant the head of his family, Isaac Trevelyan.

“You could stay here, become a world-renowned assassin with me,” Zevran suggested. He ran a hand through Max’s copper hair, so much shorter than Zevran’s own, and kissed his temple.

“I’d love to,” Max said. “I’d also like to live to see twenty-two, which won’t happen if I don’t do what Isaac says.”

Zevran frowned. “You know, we could just kill him.”

Max let himself smile for half a second and then sighed. “Unfortunately, he’s still my brother. Whatever else he is.”

“I understand how that feels,” Zevran said. He stood up from the edge of the bed and grabbed Max’s hand, pulling him to his feet. “But come. Before you must leave, I will prove to you that you won’t always be under Isaac’s heel.”

“And how are you going to do that?” Max asked, letting himself be pulled along regardless.

They had a roaring business for Rivaini seers in Antiva City. Max usually avoided things like that, anything to avoid being accused by Isaac of “sympathising.” But Zevran was insistent.  

“I have known a great many mages,” he pointed out. “Seers, well, they might not know anything but it’s fun.”

Max, besotted and sad to be leaving, rolled his eyes but agreed.

The seer they visited had set up her parlour to look exactly the way people thought a Rivaini seer’s parlour should look: there were swathes of brightly coloured fabric atop almost every surface, covering the windows and casting only the murkiest shadows into the room; incense burned, filling the air with the cloying scents of amber and myrrh and cloves. The seer herself sat waiting for them, sharp eyes darting between Max and Zevran.

“You come to know your future?” she asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Erm, sure,” Max said, trying not to laugh. He doubted the woman was going to tell him he’d ever get out from under Isaac’s thumb, but it would be fun to see what she did say.  

With a dismissive gesture, she banished Zevran from the room. He promised to wait outside, and even though he knew it was giving the seer more information than he should, Max let his eyes linger on Zev while he disappeared.

“Sit,” the seer instructed, pointing at a chair opposite her. Max sat. “Hold out your hands.”

Max held them out, and waited while she made a great show of inspecting them.

And then a furrow appeared in her brow while she ran a thumb over the palm of his left hand.

“Your hands are covered in blood,” she informed him.

“I’m an assassin,” Max said, raising his eyebrows. “Be a little shocked if they weren’t.”

“No,” she said, and looked up at Max so quickly he couldn’t help but recoil. “They are not covered in blood because of your profession. They are covered in blood because of your choices, and the choices you will make, Maxwell Trevelyan.”

“How did you--”

“Pick a stone.”

Max drew back, and stared at the small dish of polished stones she held out.

“What do you mean ‘pick one’?” he asked.

“Pick. A. Stone,” she insisted, and mostly to keep her from yelling at him, Max grabbed one off the tray. She held out her hand and Max dropped the stone into it. She turned it over a few times, and then dropped it back onto the tray, which disappeared as quickly as she’d grabbed it.

Max should never have let Zev convince him to do this.

“Stormheart,” the seer said, as though she’d expected no less.

“And what does that mean, exactly?” Max asked.

Her lips turned upwards, almost like a smile but it was too bitter to be that. “It means pride, Maxwell.” She picked up his left hand again, and turned it over and over, looking for damage – or blood – that wasn’t there. At least not yet. “So tell me. What are you willing to sacrifice for your pride?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Passover, Easter, and April Fool's Day to those who observe any or all of the above!
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with this story despite my hiatus, and I tragically only return to you now with a little bit of bad news. Most of my school deadlines got pushed back! Which is great! Except that it means instead of everything being due April 6, they're now scattered throughout the month of April, and it's entirely possible - nay, probable, if not guaranteed - that there will only be two chapters posted this month of April (not counting this one), and that I will return to chapter-a-week only in May. 
> 
> I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience, and please know I would much rather write about Max and Dorian, and Evie and Cullen, and Ella and Bull than write about some aspect of Arthuriana. Unfortunately, my master's degree hangs on the latter, rather than the former. 
> 
> Thank you all for your understanding.


	21. The Approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, a desert is approached.

“And I shit you not,  _ swoops  _ down like some griffon rider an age ago, lands right on the bastard’s shoulders, topples him to the ground in front of his entire crew and says, ‘I’m so sorry, my invitation must’ve got lost in the mail,’” Varric finished to uproarious laughter from the group assembled around the campfire. Their first night out of Halamshiral, they’d made a major encampment, which Max thought was going to either be useful or problematic depending on what they found in the Western Approach. Cullen and the soldiers would be waiting for word just there in central Orlais while Max and his entourage headed south to meet up with Hawke, Carver, and Solona. Varric had seized the opportunity to tell stories.

“And then slaughtered them all, yes, we know,” Cassandra said, a little surly but without any heat.

“Nah, idiot broke his ankle jumping three storeys,” Varric said. “Bethany dragged them all into the centre of the room with some force magnet thing and then crushed them.”

“And Bethany is…” Evie prompted.

“Oh, Carver’s twin,” Varric said. “The other Hawke.”

“And where is she now?” Evie asked. “I’d love to talk to her about force magic.”

“It’s truly a fascinating science, isn’t it?” Dorian said. “Not very widely practiced though. I’ve heard tell it runs in families. Like pyromancy, actually.”

“Yes, and it can be quite destructive,” Vivienne said, tart. “Also like pyromancy.”

“At least it’s genetic and we didn’t steal those specialisations from ancient elves,” Evie said, but quietly enough Vivienne might not hear her.

“Perhaps the ancient elves would be glad to know something of their magic lives on to the present,” Solas suggested. Evie shot him a look of betrayal.

“I think that would depend on the mage using the magic,” Ella said.

“I wasn’t aware you had so many connections to the ancient elves, Mistress Lavellan,” Solas said.

“I didn’t think you wanted ‘em,” Sera said. She raised an eyebrow at Ella in a challenge and Max only just managed to avoid rolling his eyes.

“So! Varric! Bethany Hawke! What’s she up to these days?” he asked in a carrying voice that drowned out the myriad micro-arguments trying to brew in the campsite.

“Well, she’s a Grey Warden,” Varric said. “We went on a deep roads expedition back in, hell, 9:31? Forever ago, essentially. Carver got bit by a darkspawn, and the only way to fix him was to send him off with the Grey Wardens, but Bethany wouldn’t let him do something so stupid without supervision. I’m pretty sure she’s better at it than he is, but don’t tell Junior I said that.”

“If we meet her, can we tell Bethany?” Evie asked, mischief crinkling the corners of her eyes.

“You can absolutely tell Sunshine that,” Varric said.

“So, Varric,” Josephine said, holding her mug of ale the primmest way Max had ever seen someone hold a mug of ale. She looked the most out of place at a campsite fireplace of all of them. Vivienne gave her a run for her money but still came up short. Maybe Max was just used to Vivienne in this setting.

“Yes, Ruffles?” Varric asked.

“You have nicknames for everyone,” Josephine said. “But what do you call Hawke?”

Varric stared at her for a second like he’d never considered it, but his eyes flicked over to Max for an inexplicable moment. Max tried not to frown in confusion.

“You know something?” Varric said. “I’ve always just called him Hawke. I guess it might as well be a nickname, since his first name is actually Garrett, but still.”

For some reason the tone in Varric’s voice, verging on melancholy, settled over the entire campsite.

“Well, we’ve got a long ride tomorrow,” Blackwall said, standing. “I’m going to turn in.”

“A very good point,” Cassandra said. “I shall as well. Good night.”

They chorused their responses, and then one by one headed to their own tents. While they were in the camp, they were all more spread out than they would be for the ride south. Max had even been afforded his own tent, presumably so he could sit at the table and stare blankly at the maps he’d been given since he wasn’t willing to admit to his advisors just yet that he was absolutely disgraceful at directions and spent most of his time handing the maps and their intended goals to Ella. It was an unspoken fact amongst the inner circle, but he liked to think no one had ratted him out yet.

Either way, he had his own tent for once, and a table full of correspondence he needed to see to, and a candle burning low. Through a crack in the back of the tent behind his desk, he could see lights across camp flicker out as tent by tent his closest associates went to sleep. That was another luxury of being in the full camp: none of them had to keep watch.

“It’s going to be a long ride tomorrow.”

Max nearly knocked over his candle at the whisper, and turned to see Dorian letting himself into the tent and securely fastening the door behind him. Max’s heart jumped to his throat.

“True,” he said, setting his quill pen down and turning all the way around. Dorian perched on the edge of Max’s cot. “So what are you still doing up?”

“Honestly, Solas was mumbling in his sleep,” Dorian said. “And I would humbly request different quarters while we’re on the road.”

“What kind of quarters?” Max asked. “Because Blackwall and Bull both snore, and Solas mumbles, and I’m not entirely positive Cole actually sleeps.”

“Perfect,” Dorian said. “Put Blackwall and Bull in a tent, Solas and Cole in a tent. Problem fixed.”

“And where will you sleep?” Max asked, the lump in his throat migrating towards his chest and finally settling somewhere below his belly button in a pool of heat. Dorian noticed his shift in timbre and smirked.

“I’m sure I’ll find something,” Dorian said, leaning forward. One of his ringed fingers started at the hinge of Max’s jaw and traced down the side of his neck, sending shivers down Max’s chest. Dorian pursed his lips. “Shame about the current method of transportation.”

Max didn’t have time – or the focus – to connect Dorian’s points, because Dorian leaned closer until his nose brushed against Max’s and Max could feel his breath on his lips. Dorian continued to trace his finger up and down the side of Max’s throat, undoubtedly feeling Max’s pulse jump. Max could smell him, the rich, aromatic oils he used in his hair and on his skin, and it was all rushing straight to his groin. He leaned in to try and capture Dorian’s mouth, but was interrupted by Dorian saying, “Goodnight, Max,” and vanishing from the tent as quickly as he’d come.

Max nearly fell forward onto his cot at the abrupt departure of the person he’d been leaning against. The only sign Dorian had even been there at all was an acute problem growing in the front of Max’s trousers and a lingering scent of amber.

He flopped onto his cot, undoing the laces of his trousers, devoutly thankful he had the luxury of his own tent.

It didn’t mean he was in any less of a bad mood when he woke up in the morning and had to pack his possessions and load them onto his horse. They bid farewell to Scout Harding and her crew, who were heading out first and fastest to clear the way, and then he had a last meeting with Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen. And, to his surprise, Morrigan.

Even more surprising was the fact Morrigan came with a young boy.

“Inquisitor,” she said, nodding gracefully at him. “Tis pleasant to see you again. This is my son, Kieran. He’ll be accompanying us to Skyhold.”

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Max said, shaking Kieran’s hand with an overabundance of politeness.

“How do you do?” Kieran replied with equal formality. He was very well mannered for a boy Max guessed was all of ten years old.

“Josephine and I will be heading back to Skyhold,” Leliana said for Max’s benefit. “Morrigan will be accompanying us.”

“To be Celene’s eyes in the Inquisition?” Cullen asked. Max wondered if Cullen had known Morrigan for the same amount of time he’d known Leliana.

“To be my own eyes in the Inquisition,” Morrigan corrected. “And to be the Inquisitor’s magical advisor.”

“I’ve got a lot of magical advisors,” Max said, mostly to himself. It felt some days like most of the people he got himself involved with were mages: Evie, Dorian, Vivienne, Solas, Hawke, Solona, now Morrigan.

“Be that as it may,” Morrigan said. “I will coordinate with your advisors rather than your hunting party.”

Max nodded. “We welcome all the help we can get.”

Josephine gave him a small smile of encouragement at the diplomacy of his response. Max smiled back.

“And you’re meeting the Hawkes and Warden-Commander Amell in the Western Approach,” Cullen said. He pointed at the map and Max looked at the details he was pointing to. “There’s reports of Venatori activity in the Hissing Wastes here, and just before the Approach, there’s an oasis that’s also garnering some interest. If it’s possible when you’re in the field…”

“I’ll take a look if we’ve got time,” Max promised. “And as soon as we figure out what’s going on with the Wardens, we’ll contact you and the army.”

“Precisely,” Cullen said. He clapped Max into a solid, affable handshake of farewell, and for a wild moment, Max thought he saw the green lady’s favour from the ball sticking in Cullen’s hood. “Good hunting.”

“We’ll see you soon,” Max replied. He nodded his goodbyes to Leliana, Josephine, and Morrigan, and then headed back to their departure point. His inner circle were all on their horses and waiting for him. Max threw himself into the saddle and abruptly realised Dorian’s point of the night before. Before he could flush obviously, he said, “Let’s go find some Grey Wardens!”

* * *

* * *

 

“No, I just want to know!” Dorian snapped, spinning his staff and blasting a red templar away with a zap of lightning. “What--”  _ zap  _ “-is the point-”  _ zap  _ “-of a cold-”  _ zap  _ “-desert!”

“Couldn’t tell you but the red templars are kindly invited to – would you  _ fuck off _ ?” Evie demanded, holding her staff the way Cullen had shown her and swinging the knotted crystal upwards into an abomination’s jaw. It staggered back but another who wasn’t so far gone tried to surge up and she drove the blade at the other end into its gut and finished it with a blast of fire.

They’d been sent off in small groups to investigate the odd dwarven ruins – surface dwarves, Varric was baffled – that dotted the hissing wastes. Max had gone off with Varric and Cassandra to try and infiltrate the templars’ main base of operations – or the Venatoris, honestly Evie wasn’t sure which they were fighting – and Bull had volunteered to go fight the dragon they’d spotted, with Blackwall tagging along to help and Sera following to make sure they didn’t die. Vivienne, deeply disgruntled by the turn of events, had been stuck with Solas and Cole investigating the dwarven ruins as well.

“I hate this place,” Ella said, not even bothering to shoot her next arrow at the people attacking them and choosing instead to simply jam it into the thing’s helmet. Evie only had a second to notice it had been one of the ones a red templar knight was attempting to augment, and barely tackled Ella out of the way before the thing exploded. On the bright side, the shrapnel knocked the rest of them out and it was the work of seconds to dispatch them.

“It is truly an awful place,” Dorian agreed. “But on the plus side, it’s the first time we’ve had just to ourselves since we left Skyhold. I feel as though I haven’t spoken to either of you in ages. How was Halamshiral?”

Evie smiled at the patina of sincerity Dorian had piled on. “How was  _ your  _ time at the ball, Dorian?”

“Mine?” he asked, somewhat whimsically. He ruined the effect by pausing to electrocute an attacking spider. “I danced with Maxwell.”

“Oh? Are you two finally getting your shit together?” Evie asked.

“How’s the dear commander, Evelyn?” Dorian asked haughtily.

“He’s – he’s fine,” Evie said, chewing on her lip rather than admit she hadn’t actually spoken to him since, and hadn’t had the opportunity to contact him after they’d left the army on the shores of Lake Celestine. “I, erm, I kissed him. Just once! Just once.”

It didn’t stop Dorian from gasping and Ella’s eyes from going wide.

“Did he kiss you back?” Ella asked.

“How is this possibly the exciting bit of news?” Evie demanded, jabbing the end of her staff into a spider before it could lunge at them. “You actually shagged Iron Bull.”

“You  _ what _ ?” Dorian squawked.

“More than once, actually,” Ella said with a shrug.

“So are you two together now, or something?” Evie asked. She didn’t think Ella had ever been in anything resembling a relationship aside from the complete rubbish that had been Mahanon, as she’d told Evie and Dorian. Of course, neither Evie nor Dorian were in positions to judge.

“No,” Ella said, shrugging again and crouching to aim an arrow. She still missed the horrible beast she was aiming for, but hit a lantern and caught the adjacent tree on fire, and the burning sap and ensuing light made all of the nearby creatures scatter. “It’s just sex.”

“Just sex, with a Qunari,” Dorian said. He shook his head as if to clear it. “I’m going to be so glad when we’re out of the desert and we can all start thinking rationally again.”

Evie laughed, and agreed, but as soon as they found their way back to camp, she borrowed a piece of paper off Cassandra and attempted to start a letter. She stalled out at the salutation.

“Who are you writing?” Cassandra asked curiously over the top of her book. She’d removed the cover so Evie couldn’t tell what it was.

“Erm,” Evie said. “I’m trying to write to the commander.”

She took a moment to be infinitely grateful that Vivienne was in another tent, even if it was another tent with Ella. She also realised she was grateful that Sera was still out by the campfire and not eavesdropping.

“The commander?” Cassandra asked, interest clearly piqued.

“I don’t know how to address it,” Evie said.

“Well to ‘Commander Rutherford’, assuming it’s professional,” Cassandra said, but she sounded coy enough that Evie didn’t respond immediately. “Unless it’s not professional?”

“It’s, erm, it’s not professional,” Evie admitted.

Cassandra abandoned her book entirely and shifted closer to the small table in their tent. “Is it a – a love letter?”

She whispered the last, as if worried someone was listening at the tent flap.

“Maybe,” Evie admitted. “It’s sort of an apology? But I don’t know if I should be apologising for kissing him or for not talking to him afterwards.”

“Did he return your kiss?” Cassandra asked, sounding very much like an eager lady-in-waiting at a salon.

“I think so?” Evie said. She groaned. “I’m not sure. I’ll figure it out later. Thank you for the paper.”

Cassandra didn’t badger her incessantly, and thankfully, neither did Dorian or Ella -  at least until they reached the Forbidden Oasis and one of Harding’s scouts handed around their mail. Varric, as usual, had a stack of correspondence to deal with and swore the air around himself purple while he retreated to one of the tents to deal with them all. Max, similarly, had a bucket of reports to process and look over. Iron Bull had a status update from Krem, Vivienne had something from her duke. It was the normal distribution of mail whenever they reached a new location, and as soon as they’d been handed around, everyone started to break apart to examine the maps and check on the horses and supplies like they always did, but the scout tapped Evie on the shoulder.

“A letter for you, Lady Trevelyan,” he said, handing it to her.

“Oh,” Evie said. She took it, trying not to let her confusion show. “Thank you.”

The scout threw her a salute and headed back to his station.

Evie turned the letter over to see the still intact seal and popped it open.

_ D _ _ Evelyn – _

_ I’m sorry we didn’t have a moment to speak between Halamshiral and your departure for the Western Approach. I feel I’m mostly to blame, as I was engaged in organising and preparing for the march and taking care of last minute details before the Inquisition fell short of its Inquisitor for the better part of several months. _

_ That all sounds like I’m piling on excuses. I don’t mean to be. I wish we had had a moment. _

_ I wanted to thank you, for coming to my aid against your sister. It was very helpful of you, although I’m sure it caused you distress at the time. If you need your hairpin or ribbon back, please let me know. I’ve kept them safe. Also thank you for kissing me. _

_ I hope you’re safe. _

- _ Cullen _

Evie giggled so hard she started coughing, and when Dorian and Ella came to see what was wrong, she handed it to them without a word.

“Oh dear,” Dorian said. “That’s – this is a travesty.”

“It is pretty terrible,” Ella admitted.

Evie kept giggling.

“You have to write something better back,” Dorian said.

Evie stopped laughing immediately. “I spent half an hour the other night trying to figure out how to even address a letter to him! The only thing I know how to write is an academic paper!”

“This for a love letter to Curly?”

They turned from their spot by the fire, since bitter winds were chasing each other across the plateau where they were camped, and saw Varric eyeing them.

“On the bright side, there’s nothing Evelyn could write that would be worse than his opening volley,” Dorian said. “Dear me.”

“I’m sure it’s not  _ that  _ bad,” Varric said, and accepted the letter when Ella handed it to him. “Oh.”

“Indeed,” Dorian said. “’Thank you for kissing me,’ honestly.”

“He’s just…a man of actions, instead of words,” Varric offered. “Do you want help writing back, Firefly?”

Evie took a steadying breath. “I think I’ll give it a shot. And maybe have you lot look over it before I send it.”

She didn’t get a chance to start just then, however, because Max bounded up to them with a strange grin on his face. “I know what Corypheus’s forces are doing here,” he said. “Come on. We’ve got an oasis and temple to ransack.”

Evie laughed at his enthusiasm, and the four of them followed him into the canyon.

* * *

* * *

 

_ Dear Cullen, _

_ No matter what anyone says the next time you see them (sorry, there was a lot of letter snatching, because the Inquisition is populated by children), I appreciated your letter. I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk too. I’ve missed our sparring sessions, while we’re out here in the desert. It’s an awful place, south eastern Orlais. It’s deserts, but not like the north has deserts. Down here they’re all cold, and dry, and bitterly unpleasant. Everywhere you turn, there are spiders the size of Ella. Varric did point out that at least the spiders in the Western Approach don’t descend from nowhere, which is apparently what giant spiders do in Kirkwall. So remind me never to visit. Ever. _

_ We had an encounter today with a draconologist from the University of Orlais, who’s down here studying the patterns of an Abyssal High Dragon. Which, through an extended series of circumstances I won’t bore you with, we ended up battling. Solas and Vivienne managed to freeze the head well enough that it should keep long enough to be shipped back to Skyhold. We’re going to have to establish a wall, maybe on the outside of the castle, for the heads of all the dragons Max keeps coming across. Sera said her girlfriend – apparently she’s dating the arcanist, who knew – would be able to make a staff out of the dragon bone if we sent it back to Skyhold. I imagine Dorian, Vivienne, Solas and I will be bickering about who gets to use it for an infinite length of time. _

_ And about the ball. Would you believe it, I was actually jealous there was some Orlesian noblewoman talking to you before I realised who she was. Max has since told me you were doing everything you could to try and get out of the conversations you kept having with all your admirers, but I was still jealous. I’d never gotten to wear a fancy gown and attend a ball before. I wanted a handsome man to ask me to dance, and to be utterly charmed by me, and be unable to tear his eyes away – actually no. That’s all almost a lie. I didn’t want  _ any  _ handsome man; I wanted it to be you. So, I guess, thank you for coming to check on me after which I know I said at the time, and I suppose – you’re welcome (?) for kissing you. I’d like to do it again. _

_ Tomorrow we meet with Hawke, and Carver, and Solona. Hopefully we can figure out what’s gone wrong with the Grey Wardens before everything gets worse. We know from Max and Dorian’s jaunt into the future that it has something to do with Corypheus and a demon army, but I suppose we’ll flesh out the details tomorrow. _

_ See you before too long, _

_ Evelyn _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potentially good news - I have meticulously scheduled my life and might ( _might_ ) have time to write this month. Possibly. I may also go crazy doing an entire year’s worth of latin review in three weeks. We’ll see. We shall see. 
> 
> If you are still reading this despite my despairing schedule, please consider dropping me a line as it moves this project up on the list of things I work on when I’m supposed to be doing other things. 
> 
> Hope you’re all well!


	22. Coarse, Irritating, Gets Everywhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the western approach is, er, approached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets just a little spicy, just FYI.

Max hated the Western Approach. To be fair, he hadn’t been overly fond of the Hissing Wastes, or the Forbidden Oasis, or any part of western Orlais in which he had set foot frankly, but the Western Approach was the worst.

First there had been the dragon – well. No. There had been the bandits stealing Frederic of Serault’s supplies, and then there had been the time-magic frozen temple because that was apparently an option, and _then_ there had been the dragon. All of which meant that Evie alone of their party was wandering around without burns and a tiny sliver of Max – the mildly charred ribs specifically – resented her for it.

“Do we even know where we’re supposed to meet Hawke?” Varric asked, scraping some char off Bianca with his pen knife and glowering into the fire.

“A few hours west,” Ella said, rubbing at her nose. It looked like a sunburn, but was not.

“Great,” Max said. He rubbed the back of his neck to try and work out some of the tension he’d built up while using his daggers like ice picks to scale the dragon’s flank. He jumped when a massive Qunari hand clapped down on his shoulders instead.

“And does anyone want to hazard a guess as to why there are _darkspawn_ sauntering about like they own the place?” Dorian demanded, cutting the burned parts off his robe and watching Bull massage Max’s shoulders out of the corner of his eye. Max thought he almost looked jealous, but since Dorian hadn’t even kissed him apart from the moment in the library in Skyhold, and had spent their entire ride south occasionally teasing him, he was content to let Dorian be a little jealous.

“They sort of do,” Evie said, stirring the pot of stew hanging over the fire.

“Come again?” Dorian asked.

“That’s why this place is this way,” she said. “I read about it. It was during the Second Blight.”

“Right,” Blackwall said. “Darkspawn up out of the Abyssal Reach. Destroyed this whole place beyond repair.”

“Charming,” Max said. “Blackwall, in the morning would you take a party and see if you can’t track them back to their lair and do…whatever it is Grey Wardens do?”

“Shout at the darkspawn to get fucked?” Varric suggested.

“I would be glad to,” Blackwall said, ignoring Varric and Cassandra’s answering noise of disgust. “Who should I take?”

Max sighed. “Who would rather beat up darkspawn than figure out what’s happening to the Grey Wardens? Show of hands?”

Bull put his hand up.

“Great, so Blackwall, Bull, anyone else? Yes, thank you Ella and Sera,” Max said.

“Grey Wardens came from Adamant,” Cole said. “It is a dark place.”

“Erm, right,” Max said.

“Why don’t you come with us, Cole,” Ella suggested.

“Darkspawn are empty except for the song,” Cole said.

“Right, sure,” Ella said.

“I shall accompany them, in case they are in need of magical assistance,” Solas offered.

Max nodded, and Evie informed them all that the stew was ready, and that if they needed it, she had some burn salve in her pack.

“Why do you even possess burn salve?” Dorian asked while Evie handed the jar around to the rest of the crew. “You don’t burn.”

“I burn other people,” Evie reminded him. Dorian didn’t have a response to that.

Max insisted on taking the salve last, as he was the only one who had a burn in a place that would require disrobing to treat, and didn’t want to scandalise the rest of their crew. He took the salve with him to his tent after they’d arranged watches and turned in, and had just pulled his coat and shirt off when Dorian let himself into the tent. Max didn’t groan aloud in frustration, but it was a close thing.

“Well now, aren’t you fetching?” Dorian asked, lounging on Max’s desk stool.

“I am grotesquely disfigured,” Max replied, turning so Dorian could see the burn on his ribs.

Dorian winced, but didn’t stop looking at him like he was a succulent dessert. Instead, he stood and took the salve from Max’s hands and opened it. With incredible gentleness, he daubed it onto Max’s ribs and maintained a staring contest with Max’s bare chest instead of looking at him. Max found himself transfixed by the way the candlelight shone on Dorian’s black hair.

“What are we doing, Dorian?” he asked quietly.

“I’m tending your wounds, because you attempted a full-frontal assault on a high dragon. Again,” Dorian said, intentionally missing the tone of Max’s voice.

“I thought our talking at Halamshiral meant – meant something, at least,” Max said.

“It meant everything, Max,” Dorian said softly, continuing to daub the salve onto Max’s vastly improved side rather than look at him. “But were I to do something so foolish as to kiss you out here in the middle of the desert, I would also be instantly compelled to divest both of us of all clothing and find the nearest flat surface, and considering we’re still travelling on horseback…”

A stupidly happy grin broke out on Max’s face, and Dorian glanced up in time to see it.

“No, don’t look at me like that,” Dorian scolded, booping him on the nose with the burn salve. To Max’s dismay, his nose – which he hadn’t realised was burnt as well – started to heal.

“I didn’t realise that was burnt,” he said. “How hideous is my face right now?”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Your face is horrible, at all times.”

“Which is why you couldn’t kiss me without immediately wanting to shag me,” Max said, sliding his hands around Dorian’s waist and tugging him closer. Dorian put a hand on his chest to stop him before he could get salve all over the front of Dorian’s jacket.

“You shouldn’t sound so excited about that,” Dorian said. “I haven’t touched anyone in months. For all you know, my many talents have degraded.”

Max shrugged, mostly because he didn’t believe him, and said, “Well I’ve been reliably informed I’m very good at sex in the past two months, so we should be set.”

Dorian’s hands had been tracing the muscles on his chest, but now they stilled.

“The past two months?” he asked, looking up at Max finally.

Max blinked, and wondered how he could possibly backtrack.

“What? The Inquisitor is running around Skyhold boffing the kitchen staff?” Dorian asked, his eyebrow raised. “Or was it someone else in the inner circle?”

“It was, erm, Hawke,” Max admitted, swearing internally.

Dorian’s face went carefully blank and he took half a step away from him. “Well he is a very handsome man,” he said. “All rugged and chiselled. And I suppose you hero types ought to stick toge--”

“Dorian, stop,” Max said. “It wasn’t anything like – look, we took the keep in Crestwood, and I couldn’t sleep because I was pining over you, actually, and I went to drown my sorrows and found Hawke doing the same thing, and we just…comforted each other.”

“Now there’s a euphemism,” Dorian mumbled.

“It was only the one time, and do you know what he told me after?” Max asked.

“I’m sure I’ve no idea,” Dorian said.

“He told me that I needed to tell you I didn’t care at all about my reputation, and that I was very good in bed, and that we should be together at once,” Max said. “So yes, it really was just comforting each other while we were lonely, and I had been very recently rejected.”

Dorian let that process for a minute, and Max watched the small furrows in his brow and forehead while he considered the information.

“You pined over me?” he asked at long last.

“Much more than I should’ve considering the only thing we’d done was kiss once,” Max said.

“It’s funny,” Dorian said. “I did the same thing. I wish I’d known drowning my sorrows in Garrett Hawke was an option.”

Max wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be a jab, but he didn’t really care at that point. “He’d probably have you if you asked.”

“Ask? I prefer the coy approach,” Dorian said.

Max didn’t know what to say to that, and so instead they stood in his tent in somewhat uncomfortable silence.

“We’re quite good at making a pig’s ear of this, aren’t we?” Dorian said finally.

“Apparently,” Max replied. “Thanks for helping with the salve.”

“Of course,” Dorian said. “I should depart. Goodnight, Max.”

“Goodnight,” Max echoed, and before Dorian could leave the tent entirely, he grabbed his hand and pulled him back to press a very quick kiss to his mouth.

“You’re a wicked, wicked man,” Dorian whispered, and kissed him just as quickly one more time before tearing himself away with seemingly great difficulty and retreating to the tent he shared with Ella and Evie.

* * *

* * *

 

Hunting darkspawn turned out to be a terrible thing. They spent the morning tracking them along the edge of an oasis canyon until they reached a sulphur pit so toxic they couldn’t continue. Added to that, there were phoenixes and quillbacks and gurguts and varghests and generally terrible beasts that Ella wanted nothing to do with.

“Eurgh! Get it away from me!” Sera exclaimed, darting onto Bull’s shoulders and firing an arrow coated in ice at one of the phoenixes. Solas helped with a twirl of his staff, freezing the thing in place so that Blackwall could smash it.

“We’re invading their home,” Cole said. “They don’t like invaders in their home. They don’t like the darkspawn either, or the pits they come from.”

“Any chance you can figure out where those pits are, kid?” Bull asked, apparently content to leave Sera on his shoulders.

“Beyond the metal men,” Cole said. “Over there.”

He pointed to a spot in the distance where two metal statues rose above the desert.

“Sounds like a plan,” Bull said.

Of course, to their collective disgust, the door turned out to be locked, which meant finding a way to scale the cliffs nearby. It was easy for Sera and Ella, but the others found it more challenging, especially Blackwall in his armour.

“It’s why I can’t stand the stuff,” Bull said when he finally pulled himself onto the top of the plateau. “Bad mobility.”

“I thought you just liked dazzling people with your chest,” Sera said.

“Some people,” Bull agreed, glancing at Ella out of the corner of his eye. She only barely suppressed a grin. It was a shame about the close quarters they slept in while they were travelling. She would’ve liked the opportunity to be even more dazzled by Bull’s chest. Just, in private.

“Or you could help me up,” Blackwall scolded, reaching up a hand. Bull grabbed him and hauled him over the side like he weighed nothing, even though Ella was very certain that wasn’t the case.

In the end, they found the darkspawn, and sealed the hole they were climbing from, and found themselves at the foot of an abandoned keep.

“Looks like it was for the Wardens,” Blackwall said, folding his arms and looking up at the keep’s towers. “All the griffons.”

“Shame about the bandits,” Bull replied.

Sera extended a middle finger to the archers on the ramparts who were watching them. Fortunately, they were far enough away from the keep that they had a leisurely amount of time to step out of the way when the archer fired at them.

“You tired from fighting darkspawn?” Bull asked the group at large.

“Could use a stretch, actually,” Blackwall said.

Bull nodded and pulled his axe out of his holster. “Should we knock?”

Ella smiled and drew an arrow. She lined it up with the bandit archer’s helmet and loosed it. She had a better bow, because they heard the clang of the arrow hitting the helmet, and then the archer stumbled backwards into a brazier, which he knocked over. The burning coals spilled across the ramparts and within seconds, caught the scaffolding they could just see over the edge off the ramparts on fire. Only moments later, screams started to echo from the keep.

“You have a talent for chaos, Mistress Lavellan,” Solas said, casting a barrier over Bull and Blackwall before they could smash the front door in.

“Yes,” Ella agreed, because she didn’t know what else she was supposed to say. She couldn’t deny it because it was true, and she couldn’t decipher Solas’s tone well enough to figure out if it was meant to be an insult or a compliment.

“Unusual for a Dalish elf,” Solas said, and Ella still couldn’t figure out how she was supposed to take the comment. She settled for aiming at one of the guards who came towards them instead, and sighed when the arrow ricocheted and cut the rope on a pulley, sending a platform of timber crashing down on a group of bandits.

“It’s not like I do it on purpose,” Ella said.

“If you could do that on purpose you’d be a force of nature,” Sera called, using Bull’s horn to swing herself around and shoot down an archer on the wall. She looked away before the arrow hit and Ella thought she almost saw Sera flinch when the man screamed in pain and died.

“I can’t imagine your clan liked the attention that drew,” Solas said, renewing Bull and Blackwall’s barriers before they could run up a flight of stairs to the top of the keep and the Venatori spellbinder attempting to kill them.

“They didn’t,” Ella said, and darted away from him, ducking when Cole spun past her, daggers flying, and incapacitated a swarm of bandits.

“Is that why they sent you to the Conclave?” Solas asked, casting an ice spell at the Venatori. The man froze solid and both Bull and Blackwall swung at him at once. He shattered, and Ella tuned the two out while they bickered over who got to claim that as their kill.

“What do you want?” Ella asked, after she’d done a cursory glance to see if they were safe.

“I’m merely expressing interest,” Solas said. “I have not spoken to many Dalish.”

“I’m a bad place to start,” Ella said, and turned on her heel to help Sera, Bull, and Blackwall while they searched the bodies for valuables and carried the corpses away. She must have looked like she was in a bad mood, because Bull nudged her with his elbow.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Annoyed,” she replied, pocketing a handful of sovereigns and then dragging the man they’d belonged to towards the pile by the foot.

“I hate this part,” Sera complained.

“We could just leave them here to be eaten by birds,” Blackwall said.

Sera’s noise of disgust put paid to that suggestion, and Blackwall looked smug as if he’d planned it that way.

“Besides, it’s a nice fort,” Blackwall said. “Nicer than tents.”

“Nicer than Madame Fussy Britches insisting she doesn’t snore?” Sera asked with sudden enthusiasm.

She bounded off to examine the quarters the keep had to offer and left the rest of them with the clean-up duties, which Ella was willing to bet was absolutely not something Blackwall had intended as an outcome. And to Ella’s greater frustration, Bull wasn’t satisfied with just the answer that she was annoyed. After they had the pyre lit and had found an Inquisition banner in one of their saddlebags to fly up the flagpole and hopefully signal to the others where they were, he tracked her down and sat near one of the lookout posts, sharpening his axe.

“Why are you annoyed?” he asked.

“Solas,” Ella said, hoping that could be the end of it.

“Why?” Bull asked.

Ella huffed. “He insulted Fenlen once.”

Bull raised his eyebrow pointedly and then went back to sharpening his blade. Ella grumbled and sat down next to him with her chin in her hands. She was sure she looked ridiculous and more like an overdeveloped child than she usually did, but Bull had seen her naked, so there was no point in standing on ceremony.

“He kept asking about my clan and whether or not they minded the fact I’m a disaster with a bow,” she finally said.

Bull nodded and said nothing.

“They did,” Ella said. “They hated it. I wasn’t allowed to touch weapons unless I was out with a hunting party, and they only sent me out with the hunting parties to keep me from doing anything disastrous at home. The only person who even liked me a little was the halla keeper, and only because I was his apprentice.”

“The deer things, right?” Bull asked.

Ella’s ears twitched. “Yes, the deer things.”

Bull nodded. “And that’s what your face means, right?”

“Vallaslin,” Ella said. “For Ghilan’nain.”

“Right,” Bull said. “Mostly what I know about elves is whatever Dalish and Skinner bicker about.”

Ella doubted very much that was true, but didn’t call him on it.

“Why was Solas asking you about your clan?” he asked.

“He said he hasn’t known many Dalish,” Ella said. “I’m the worst possible place to start.”

Bull lifted his eyebrow but didn’t pry, and Ella didn’t elaborate. Solas cast them looks every so often while he paced the walls of the keep, but kept to himself. Blackwall had elected himself to write to the commander back in the camp on Lake Celestine and tell them about the new keep. Sera was trying to keep away from Cole, who was following her asking questions. Ella didn’t think Cole technically counted as young, as far as the actual age of the spirit that had formed him – at least as she understood Cole – but she couldn’t help but think of Cole and Sera as the children of the collected Inquisition inner circle.

She wondered if some of them thought that about her, as well.

“Do the other people in the Inquisition think I’m a kid like Sera and Cole?” she asked.

“I absolutely do not,” Bull said.

Ella stared at him for long enough that he looked awkward.

“I don’t know,” Bull said finally. “They probably think you’re young? And actually, I just know you’re older than Krem, I don’t know how old you are.”

“Twenty-eight,” Ella said.

“Doesn’t that make you older than the Inquisitor, too?” Bull asked. Ella nodded and he laughed. “Yeah, I think you’re fine.”

“Thanks,” Ella said.

“Oh, also, found this on one of the dead guys,” Bull said, fishing something out of his bag and handing it to her. “Thought you could give it to Fenlen or something.”

It was a collar, not unlike the kind humans put on their cats as if they expected cats to behave more like owned things if they had decoration. There was an engraved buckle on it, and it would probably look fetching on Fenlen. Ella pocketed it.

* * *

* * *

 

_Commander Cullen,_

_The duty of official dispatch has fallen to me, as the Inquisitor is currently occupied (by pacing the ramparts of a keep we’ve acquired and swearing very loudly. The others are trying to talk him down, but the message was urgent enough not to wait). We rendezvoused with Hawke, and Carver, and Warden-Commander Amell and uncovered what Corypheus’s plans are for the Grey Wardens._

_The mages within the Warden ranks are being manipulated into using blood magic to sacrifice their colleagues and bind demons. Ostensibly, it’s so they can march into the deep roads and kill the remaining old gods before they become archdemons and trigger a blight. From what Max and Dorian saw in the future, we know it’s actually to take over all of Orlais, especially now that their plans to assassinate Celene and cast the whole empire into chaos failed._

_Warden-Commander Amell managed to track the fleeing wardens to an old Warden fortress called Adamant. We await the arrival of Inquisition forces at Griffon Wing Keep._

_Please hurry,_

_Lady Evelyn Trevelyan_

* * *

* * *

 

Evie watched Max pace with growing unease. She waited as long as she could, well after she’d sent the report off to Cullen, and then grabbed Dorian.

“Talk him down,” she requested. “Please.”

“He’s your brother,” Dorian pointed out.

“Yes, and you’re his…” Evie started. She wasn’t sure how Max and Dorian were defining their relationship, if they even were.

“Are you suggesting I distract him with my physical charms, Evelyn?” Dorian asked.

“If you think it’ll work,” Evie replied. “He’s just stressing all of us out.”

“Yes, the Grey Wardens are being manipulated by an evil Tevinter Magister,” Dorian said. “I believe we’re all fairly stressed about that.”

Evie frowned at him until he sighed and threw his hands up like he was excessively put upon.

“Fine! Fine, I will attempt to talk him down,” he said. He started to head for Max’s pacing route, but paused and looked back over his shoulder at her. “But _you_ get to deal with the Amell family.”

Evie considered throwing sparks at him, but decided against it. Instead she headed towards the huddle of people standing a little ways apart from the few still left on the walls of the keep. Most of their company had retired to the quarters they’d found in the hopes of getting some sleep and some rest while they waited for the forces Cullen would send. Evie felt fairly certain they were all going to go stir crazy while they waited.

Hawke was pacing when Evie reached them, but in much smaller circles than Max. He kept balling his fist so tightly it turned white and then letting it go. Carver had his arms folded until the muscles there popped, and the tendons in his forearms stood out. Solona, unlike either of her cousins, was holding her staff and staring off into the middle distance. Ice was forming below her fingers.

“Corypheus himself was my fault to begin with,” Hawke said as Evie approached.

“How do you figure?” Carver grumbled.

“I killed him last time!” Hawke snapped. “Apparently I didn’t do it thoroughly enough. And now he’s corrupting the Grey Wardens.”

“Yes, must be terrible for you, since your asshole boyfriend, siblings, and cousin are all Wardens,” Carver said. “Can’t imagine what it would be like to actually have to deal with the knowledge that your entire order, to which you’ve pledged your life, is going entirely mad.”

Hawke threw him a quick glare.

“That part might be my fault,” Solona said, which was the first time Evie had heard her cop to culpability in anything.

“How do you figure?” Carver asked.

“I’m the Commander of the Grey in Ferelden, and I’ve been off everywhere but the past few years,” she said in her sickly-sweet voice. Evie wondered for the first time if she sounded that way because of some sort of enchantment. She wasn’t sure what kind of magic would make a person’s voice so bewitching aside from –

“Oh,” she heard herself mumble, which also brought her to their attention.

“Yes, Evelyn?” Solona asked, as polite as ever.

“I just realised something, it’s fine,” Evie said, trying to control her voice in a way she’d never be able to without Solona’s type of magic.

“Anything pertinent to the Wardens and Corypheus?” Solona asked.

“No,” Evie said.

“Then please share it, I’m sick thinking about it,” Hawke said, finally stopping and leaning against the parapet.

Evie grimaced and then tried to marshal her face to keep judgement out of it.

“I just realised you’re not just an arcane warrior,” she said to Solona.

“Multiple specialisations do tend to make people uncomfortable,” Solona agreed. “I don’t bandy it about.”

“Most people in the south don’t ‘bandy about’ the fact they’re blood mages,” Evie said. Solona flicked her eyebrow but didn’t contradict her.

“We do all have our flaws,” she said.

“Does the king know?” Evie couldn’t help but ask.

“Does my husband know I’m a blood mage?” Solona repeated, sounding almost amused by Evie’s ignorance. “He was _there_ when we had to do whatever had to be done in order to stop the Blight. And even if he wasn’t, it’s not like I would’ve hid it from him. You’ve never been in a relationship, have you?”

Evie felt a lick of fire run up her spine, and swallowed back the instinct to spit it at her.

“I did live in the tower between the ages of eight and twenty-six,” she said. “How long were you there, exactly?”

Solona narrowed her eyes.

“Well I need a drink,” Hawke said, throwing an arm around Evie’s shoulders and steering her away from Solona. “Let’s leave the Wardens to talk about Warden-y whatever.”

Evie didn’t get a chance to respond or protest while he shuffled her to the kitchen. To both of their relief, there were casks of wine at the ready - one benefit of the castle being occupied by the Venatori, Evie supposed – and Hawke poured them each generous glasses.

“Oh, well that’s awkward,” he said after they’d sat down across from each other.

“It is?” Evie asked, drinking deeply and tucking one of her feet under her.

“This is how I ended up shagging Max,” he said.

Evie choked on her wine. “You _what?”_

Hawke waved it off like this was inconsequential.

“What about Anders?” Evie demanded. “Or _Dorian_?”

“Anders and I haven’t been together that way for a long time,” Hawke said with a sigh. “And Max had been soundly turned down by Dorian only days earlier so it was mostly, erm, comfort food, or something. Bad phrasing. Anyway.”

Evie shook her head, trying to clear the mental images.

“Anders is actually part of the reason I wanted to get away from Solona,” Hawke said. “The whole journey here, she wouldn’t stop asking me about Kirkwall. Apparently she fully supports Anders’ actions.”

“I’m not surprised,” Evie grumbled.

“Don’t like her?” Hawke asked with a quick grin. “I’d never have guessed.”

Evie snorted. “Mostly I just assume that whatever opinion I hold, hers is the opposite.”

“Probably reasonable,” Hawke said. “I just find it fascinating how, of the three mages in my family, all of us have had vastly different experiences with all of this.”

“You have?” Evie asked, taking a drink of her wine. It was too cold in the Western Approach for red wine storage and it had started to get tasteless, but the alcohol was still good at least. She just would have to keep Dorian away from it in case it made him whine in despair.

“There’s me, apostate for…I don’t know, however long it’s been since we figured out I had magic,” Hawke said. “My sister Bethany, who was an apostate until she joined the Grey Wardens, and Solona who was taken to the Circle as soon as she had magic, and then left to join the Wardens and ended up Queen of Ferelden and Commander of the Grey. And I think she’s an Arlessa or something, I’m never sure how many titles she has.”

Evie huffed. “And then me, taken to the Circle as soon as I had magic, and I just stayed there. Forever.”

Hawke nodded sagely. “Do you really fancy Curly?”

“Varric?” Evie guessed, too tired to try and deny it. Not that she would. She didn’t think.

“Of course,” Hawke said.

“He’s – I respect his ability as the commander of the Inquisition’s forces,” Evie said. “And he’s treated all the Inquisition’s mages with respect, and when I was trying to light someone on fire, he didn’t dispel or suppress my magic, he just asked me to stop, which might not seem like something huge to an apostate but…”

“No, I understand,” Hawke said. “Not personally, of course, but I’ve heard Anders rant about the Circle often enough that I’m familiar with the problem.”

“Right,” Evie said. “And he’s been helping me learn how to fight better, physically, than I do with just magic, which has been invaluable, so I’ve gotten to know him.”

They drank.

“Also he’s absolutely gorgeous,” Hawke said.

“Andraste’s tits, he is,” Evie agreed.

Hawke laughed, and Evie laughed, and they both finished off their wine. A heavy silence filled the kitchen in the aftermath.

“This fight against the Wardens and their demon army is going to be terrible, isn’t it?” Hawke said quietly. “And this coming from the man who survived the Deep Roads, the Qunari invasion of Kirkwall, and the outbreak of the mage-templar war in the middle of the city.”

“Honestly?” Evie replied. “Everything’s been terrible since the Conclave. I don’t know how this could be worse than watching my brother die in Haven.”

As soon as she said it, she could instantly picture an infinite number of worse scenarios, the obvious starting with “watching Max die but this time permanently” and progressing from there. She could tell Hawke was having the same thoughts, because he got up and refilled their wine glasses without a word.

* * *

* * *

 

Dorian lounged on the bed in the room Max had claimed. He wasn’t entirely sure Max had claimed it himself, or if Sera had claimed it on his behalf, but either way it had a large bed and he certainly wasn’t going to complain.

Not about that at least. Max was pacing the length of the room nearly pulling out his own hair while he ranted about the Grey Wardens and Livius Erimond, who Dorian had had the displeasure to know in Minrathous, and Corypheus, and then turned to the Inquisition as a whole, and his role as Inquisitor.

“I believe the point in coming down here was to stop you from ranting,” Dorian said.

“I thought the point was to keep me from ranting in front of people,” Max replied without looking at him, which was really a shame since Dorian was somewhat intending to use Evelyn’s suggested method of distraction and had arranged himself artfully, even if he was still fully clothed.

“Am I not people?” Dorian asked.

“No,” Max said without pausing. Dorian arched an eyebrow, and at his silence, Max finally looked. He swallowed a bit nervously when he took in Dorian’s lounging form, which Dorian found impossibly adorable since he’d gathered Max was about as virginal as he was himself. “You’re not people. You’re…better than people.”

“I’m better than people?” Dorian repeated, feeling genuinely amused for the first time since they’d come across Erimond’s ritual.

“You’re…un-people,” Max said. “Like Evie. Or Varric. Or Cassandra.”

“I’m like your sister?” Dorian asked, sitting up fully so he could give Max the full brunt of his disapproving look.

“That’s not what I – I just mean I could be around you forever without feeling like I needed to be alone for a minute,” Max said.

Dorian blinked. “Oh,” he said. He heaved a dramatic sigh to try and distract from the blush starting on his face. “Here I am trying to seduce you, and there you go being all…genuine.”

Max’s mouth twitched and Dorian wanted very much to kiss him.

“You never have to try,” he said, taking a few steps towards the bed.

“Wow, I’m impressed,” Dorian said. “No hesitation at all. Not a single circumstance in which I’d have to try?”

“I’ve never been hesitant about you, Dorian,” Max said, kneeling on the edge of the bed and trapping Dorian there, all without touching him.

He hadn’t, Dorian realised. At no point in their acquaintance had Max once hesitated. Max’s initial trust of him might have had more to do with Dorian’s appearing in the company of his long-lost sister, but even during their flirtation that followed, Max had never hesitated. Instead, it had all been Dorian. Dorian who didn’t want to endanger Max’s reputation, Dorian who thought it was for the best if they didn’t…

Well he’d given up on his own hesitation now, at least.

He sat upright, knocking Max back onto his heels, and buried his hand in his surprisingly soft copper hair. When he tugged ever so slightly to angle Max’s head and get better access to the point between his jaw and neck, Max made a small noise that went directly to Dorian’s cock. He was sure Max could feel him smirking when he fixed his mouth on Max’s pulse and nibbled.

“Dorian,” Max gasped, and before Dorian could prepare, he’d retaliated. The noise Dorian made when Max tugged at his hair was nowhere near as small as the one that had come from Max, and he had time to revel in the smirk Max gave him before he surged forwards and kissed Dorian so thoroughly Dorian wasn’t sure he was ever going to breathe properly again.

Desperate to get his hands on any part of Max he could touch, Dorian grabbed at his shoulders, seeking the buttons of his coat, the knot in his scarf, the buckles of his mail. The coat hit the bed and slipped onto the floor before Max could respond, and the scarf followed, dropping in a glorious pile that barred even more of Max’s neck for Dorian’s consumption. He broke the kiss long enough to taste the length of his throat and remove the offending chainmail and shirt beneath. He paused then to take in the fruits of his labours. The burn on Max’s side was mostly healed, and wouldn’t leave a serious scar, but there were others. Lines of scar tissue sat on Max’s arms and chest, disrupting the faint ginger hair across his pecs.

“How did…” Dorian asked softly, tracing the lines. It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen them before, yesterday even, but it was the first time he got to see them in a context where he was allowed to look, to touch, to ask.

“I’ve been an assassin since I was sixteen,” Max said, his voice quiet like he was afraid of spooking Dorian with that reminder. “Sometimes people fight back when you’re there to kill them.”

“Do they? I hadn’t noticed these past few months,” Dorian said, leaning forward to explore Max’s shoulders with his mouth.

Max let him for only a few moments before pushing him back on the bed. Dorian went willingly, and shivered when Max followed the same path Dorian had taken. Dorian’s robes had significantly more buckles than Max’s, and Max lavished attention on every inch of skin revealed while he peeled away Dorian’s clothes.

Dorian lost coherent thought somewhere between Max leaving a bruise between his hip and his navel using only his mouth, and the appearance from nowhere he could determine of a bottle of oil. He was somewhat in control of his own actions when he pulled Max up so he could kiss him, complete with the odd but not altogether unpleasant sensation of tasting his own skin on Max’s tongue, and when he regained himself,  he managed to get his thighs around Max’s hips and flip them over so he was on top.

Max looked indecent spread out below him. His hair was a wreck where Dorian had buried his fingers in it, and his lips were swollen where Dorian had kissed them, and his pulse jumped in his neck because Dorian…

Max tolerated Dorian’s staring – gazing, perhaps – only moments before he sat up and started outlining Dorian’s collarbone with his tongue, all the while unlacing his trousers with deft fingers. Dorian was positive he sounded entirely undone when Max touched him.

He found he was profoundly grateful for the stone walls of the keep around them. They insulated Max and Dorian from any sounds the rest of them might be making, as well as saving this moment just for them. It wasn’t any business of Blackwall’s or Cassandra’s or – Maker forbid – Evie’s, the mixed oaths and praises that fell from both Dorian and Max’s lips. It was nobody’s business but Dorian’s and Max’s if Dorian’s invocations of the Maker and Andraste started to rapidly include the apotheosising man buried inside him. And it was entirely between them if, when Max started to say something frighteningly permanent about his feelings, Dorian stopped him with a kiss.

It _became_ Ella’s business to an extent the next morning when she burst into the room to tell Max they’d already received a reply from Cullen and found them naked and wrapped around each other.

“Oh!” she said, and didn’t, Dorian noted, put her hand over her eyes. Of course, it was cold enough in the keep that they had found blankets before sleeping, but most of Dorian’s thoroughly marked chest was in plain sight, as were the hands Max had been using to explore said chest before they were officially awake.

“Morning, Ella,” Max said, in a terribly adorable and perturbed voice. His speech was directed to the nape of Dorian’s neck and the sensation of Max’s breath across that sensitive patch of skin sent thrills of anticipation down his back. “What’s going on?”

“We got a messenger bird from Cullen,” she said, barely suppressing a grin at the sight of them. “The army should be here late tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Max asked. “How is that possible?”

“He said he’d explain when he wasn’t trying to write from the back of a horse,” Ella said. “At least we’re pretty sure that’s what he said. It was difficult to read.”

“I’m not surprised the good commander lacks Varric’s penmanship,” Dorian said.

“Thanks for telling me,” Max said. His hand had crept fully below the blankets and was wreaking havoc on Dorian’s nerves, a single finger tracing the artery on the inside of his hip.

“Of course,” Ella said, and proceeded to dither in the doorway of the room until Dorian said, in a strangled voice, “goodbye, Ella.”

She giggled and skipped out of the room.

“You are a wicked, wicked man,” Dorian informed Max, because as soon as she was gone, he’d wrapped his hand around Dorian and was exercising his wrist in a way only a skilled user of combat knives could.

“Really?” Max murmured directly into his ear. Dorian shuddered again, and keened when Max pulled his earlobe between his teeth. “I seem to remember you making certain comments about my divinity last night.”

“Wicked and horrible,” Dorian repeated, his breath starting to come in pants while Max worked his wrist.

“Does that mean you want me to stop?” Max asked.

“Maker’s balls no,” Dorian replied and Max laughed.

Dorian didn’t hear him laugh that often he realised. And he had never heard Max say anything like the words he’d attempted to say the night before. A lifetime ago, back in Haven, Max had confided in Dorian that he’d never had friends before the Inquisition started.

“Did you mean it?” Dorian asked, after.

“Hmm?” Max asked, languid and sated, lazily tracing his fingers along Dorian’s ribs.

“Last night,” Dorian said. “When you almost said you loved me.”

Max’s hand went still, and Dorian’s heart stopped.

“I can’t think,” Max said eventually, “of another reason why it would’ve hurt so much when you said we shouldn’t be together.”

“The pain of rejection?” Dorian suggested.

“No, I’m used to that one,” Max said, which broke Dorian’s heart just a bit. “I wasn’t asking you to say it back, you know.”

Dorian laced his fingers through Max’s to keep him from trying to spook.

“I’ve never mean anything to someone before,” he said. “I’ve been…a port in a storm.”

“Would you prefer that?” Max asked, suddenly sounding vulnerable. Dorian turned in his arms, grabbed him, and kissed him. When they broke apart, Max said, “Because I want this to mean something. Please.”

Dorian’s heart nearly beat out of his chest when he said, “I love you as well, _amatus.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> featuring Max Trevelyan, secret introvert. 
> 
> Also - oh god - this is the last chapter I have written. I hope to be able to return to more regular updates in May.


	23. Adamant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a fortress is breached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a garbage trash of a person and I'm sorry. "I'll update in May!" I said, and then my friend from home came to visit and I had a Latin final and then in a stunning twist of unprecedented fate, I have actual multiple friends who live in my city and they convinced me to go to Italy with them and I finally got back on Friday after a week of no technology. 
> 
> I'm so sorry.

# 

Evie refused to admit she spent the early morning pacing the ramparts. But she couldn’t help it. In the far distance, she could make out the cloud of dust that marked the coming of the Inquisition army, and with them, Cullen.

“You look nervous, Firefly,” Varric said, leaning against a crenelation next to her. “Curly?”

“Of course I’m not nervous,” Evie said, letting a few embers fall from her fingertips. “Not about Cullen, anyway.”

Varric nodded like he was pretending to believe her and clapped her on the arm a few times before leaving her be. As he went, Evie noticed Solona watching their exchange from the other side of the walkway. Rather than deal with her, Evie hid down in the marketplace courtyard, away from prying eyes. It meant she was the first person to notice the advance party ride up to the keep. It was Cullen, and his most trusted lieutenants – Rylen and Barris – and the Chargers, all of whom dismounted immediately inside the gates.

“Stables are that way,” Evie said before any of them could notice her.

“Lady Trevelyan,” Rylen and Barris chorused, throwing her a salute. Evie nodded in acknowledgement and didn’t ask when they subtly exchanged gold pieces.

“Seen the chief?” Krem asked, handing the reins of his horse to one of the other chargers.

“Up somewhere,” Evie said, pointing.

“And Ella?” Dalish asked.

“Wherever Bull is, I assume,” Evie replied. She wasn’t pointedly avoiding looking at Cullen, but it was easier to not acknowledge the fact he was pointedly not staring at her.

“You owe me ten gold, Stitches,” Rocky said, and they ran off swearing at each other while they sought Bull and Ella.  

“The Inquisitor?” Cullen asked, finally looking at Evie. She wasn’t sure where she was supposed to fix her eyes. It felt odd to just look directly at him – was that what people did in conversations? – but to look anywhere aside from his face seemed like it might be rude, and she didn’t want to be rude. She ended up looking at a point roughly around his shoulder, which was when she spotted a flash of green in the ruff of his coat.

Well, he had said he was keeping her improvised favour safe.

“Erm, I sent Dorian to talk to him two days ago and I haven’t seen either of them since,” she said. “I’m assuming they’re in one of the rooms.”

“Ah,” Cullen said. “I should check in with him.”

He made no move to leave and Evie glanced at his face again to find him watching her.

“Are you alright, Evelyn?” he asked.

His voice sounded like whiskey tasted, and the delicious way it wrapped around her namesent chills down her spine.

“I’m fine,” she said, although she wasn’t entirely sure that was true. “And you, Cullen?”

“Fine,” he echoed, taking half a tentative step closer to her. Evie mimicked him, and then reached up for the peek of green in his hood. Her fingers accidentally brushed against the bare skin of his neck and a pink flush spread from the point of contact.

“Keeping it safe?” Evie asked, taking the favour from his hood and wondering if she was blushing as badly as he was.

“Erm, ‘close’ might have been a more accurate description,” he said. Evie grinned and tucked the favour back into his hood, more intentional about drawing her fingers across the patch of skin just above his collar this time. “Evelyn, in your letter you said…”

“That I wanted to kiss you again?” Evie asked. She hadn’t been fully aware of stepping closer to him while they spoke but now she was only a breath away. It would be so easy to stand on her toes and kiss him again like she so wanted to.

“Yes,” Cullen replied, lowering his face towards hers.

“Commander!” a person Evie recognised as one of the scouts called, and Cullen looked up with the most annoyed expression Evie had ever seen him wear, even back when they hadn’t cared for each other and drove each other mad.

“What,” Cullen said, flat. He turned halfway to hide Evie from prying eyes. It was sensible, she supposed. It wasn’t exactly proper for the commander of the inquisition forces to be snogging the Inquisitor’s sister in a public courtyard.

“Erm, I’ve got the reports on…you know, it doesn’t matter,” the scout said, and Evie had to wonder what exactly Cullen’s face was doing to prompt such fear. “I’ll leave them on your desk.”

The scout ran away and before Evie could laugh or ask Cullen if it had been necessary for him to scare the poor kid that much, he turned around and took her face in his hands, somehow tender and possessive all at once, and crushed their mouths together. Evie only had a second to gasp in shock before the kiss softened and his lips fitted perfectly between hers. She regretted then only kissing him for a few moments back in Halamshiral. Because the kiss now felt like fire, but she knew she wasn’t burning. She could seize Cullen by the shoulders and pull him closer, and she could bury her fingers in his curls, and appreciate the way he shuddered ever so slightly when she played with his hair.

He let go of her face after a minute and held her waist instead. Evie didn’t realise they were moving backwards until her legs hit a barrel. Seeming like it was barely taxing, and without breaking the kiss, Cullen lifted her up to sit atop it. It was easier for her to hold him closer when their faces were at the same level, but having him stand between her legs was giving her ideas that she didn’t think they had time for. Then his tongue traced across hers and she stopped thinking at all.

“Cullen! You made it!”

At the sound of Max’s voice, Evie wanted to throw a fit. Because Cullen stopped touching her when Max beckoned. Max was standing on the steps a little way away, and Dorian was a few paces behind him. Even at a distance, Evie could see his eyebrows were raised.

“Inquisitor!” Cullen said, snapping to attention and staring at Max with wide eyes. He looked a little like a child who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and Evie had to press her lips together to keep from giggling.

“Erm,” Max said, looking between Cullen and Evie and clearly stifling a laugh. “As you, er, were?”

Cullen cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck before shooting an apologetic look in Evie’s direction. “Erm, no, we probably should discuss the situation at Adamant Fortress. If you’ll excuse us, Mistress Trevelyan?”

Evie felt her eyebrows lift towards her hairline. “Cullen, he just saw us snogging. I don’t think his head’s going to explode if you call me Evelyn in front of him.”

Cullen flushed nearly to the roots of his hair, and Max pointedly turned away from them to talk to Dorian. In the relative privacy, Evie grabbed Cullen by the lapels and pulled him in for one more kiss before shooing him off to Max. Rather than go with them, Dorian descended the stairs to her barrel and took a seat on the adjacent one.

“Quite the friendly greeting,” he said, smirking.

Evie flicked him in the shoulder. “You’ve been in bed with my brother for two days.”

“At your insistence, I might point out,” Dorian said. He grinned while Evie gave him a bad look. Abruptly, he sobered, and cleared his throat. “He said he loved me.”

Evie blinked. “Seriously?”

Dorian nodded.

“And do you…love him?” Evie asked.

“Maker help me, but I think I do,” Dorian said, sounding like he’d much rather swallow a gurgut. “And then what am I supposed to do if he doesn’t – if he--”

_ I already had to watch my brother die,  _ Evie had told Hawke.  _ How much worse can it get? _

She squeezed Dorian’s hand and leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. “Try to have a little faith in him.”

Dorian snorted. “An optimist, Evelyn?” he asked. “I never would’ve expected it from you.”

Evie smiled. “Sorry to disappoint.”

* * *

* * *

 

Cullen proposed trebuchets, and Max was in no position to deny him. His Warden contingent – Carver and Solona – agreed that Adamant Fortress was old, and that Cullen was probably right, though Solona looked like she’d swallowed a lemon to say it. It killed Max just a little - maybe a lot - the way time sped up as soon as Cullen arrived at the keep. Within hours of their planning session beginning, it felt like the time he’d spent in bed with Dorian was days ago. And then, before he knew it, they were at Adamant. 

As soon as they were in the fortress, they were beset by demons and possessed Grey Wardens and non-possessed Grey Wardens, and they couldn’t get anyone up the ladders to the ramparts because there were too many of the awful shade creatures attacking and – unless Max was hallucinating the lightning – a pride demon or two.

“We need to clear the ramparts!” he shouted, following behind Carver while he cleared a hole through the small force attacking them and finishing off the idiots who tried to fight back.

“I’ve got it!” Evie and Solona called back in unison, and although they glanced at each other suspiciously, they ended the look with a nod and took off for the ramparts.

“Blackwall! Cassandra! Go with them!” Max instructed, ducking a bolt of lightning Dorian sent past his head and stabbing the person it paralysed. “Sera! Cole! You too!”

They peeled off and followed Max’s instructions, and he hoped that between the six of them, they could succeed in clearing the ramparts. But then again, that was not a lot of people.

“Bull, would you take the Chargers and follow up?” Max asked, sidestepping a falling axe and going to finish the man swinging it off, but the man fell back with a crossbow bolt through his face, courtesy of Varric.

“On it, boss!” Bull promised, storming through the crowd with the Chargers in tow.

“Do you want me to go with them?” Ella asked, springboarding off a surprised Carver’s shoulders and knocking a brazier over onto a despair demon in the process. Hawke encouraged the fire with a twist of his hand and the demon shrivelled away to nothing.

Max scanned the people he had left – Varric, Hawke, Carver, Dorian, Ella, and Solas.

“No, I’d prefer you to stay,” he said.

Ella nodded and their group continued towards the centre of the fortress, seeking Warden Commander Clarel.

When they found her, Max wished they hadn’t.

He didn’t get long to dwell, though, before he was sprinting after her and Erimond through the fortress and towards a bridge. He wasn’t counting on the dragon, or on Clarel sacrificing herself, or on the bridge collapsing. He wasn’t counting on falling.

The anchor on his hand sparked, sizzled. The veil was particularly weak here, he remembered, and had been even before the Wardens started using it as a place to summon demons. And it was a long, long way down. Max didn’t think, just lifted the anchor and blasted.

* * *

The feeling of falling lasted longer than he thought it should’ve, and only stopped when he hovered slightly above a ground-like surface, and then flopped onto his stomach. Groaning, he picked himself up and stared around.

It was wrong, this place. There was something undefinably  _ wrong _ all around him.

“I have to say, the Fade looks dreadful.”

The sound of Hawke’s voice made Max look up and then scramble to his feet. The others were dusting themselves off, although any dust that fell from their armour simply hung in the air and spiralled away rather than falling the way gravity ought to permit. Ella’s knuckles were white on the curve of her bow, and though Max was sure Dorian looked nonchalant to everyone else, there was a set to his shoulders that belied that idea. Carver hadn’t set his sword down, and Varric had his crossbow pointed directly in front of him, though he kept glancing over his shoulder.

“The first time I was in the fade, I lounged on a sofa with a desire demon. We ate grapes. It was quite lovely until he tried to possess me,” Dorian said, twirling his staff a little. “It didn’t look anything like this though.”

“I never dreamed,” Solas said, staring around with the first hint of genuine wonder Max had ever seen in his eyes. “I never thought I might one day walk physically in the fade.”

“Is that even possible?” Dorian asked, eyeing him.

“Ask Max,” Hawke replied, crossing his arms and looking around uncertainly. “If this is what the fade really looks like, then the chantry owes me an apology. This looks nothing like the Maker’s bosom.”

“He’s right,” Carver said. “According to the stories, you did step out of the fade, Inquisitor. Was it like this last time?”

“I don’t remember,” Max said. “All I remember is stepping into a room, and then waking up in the crypt under the Haven chantry while Cassandra threatened to kill me.”

“And somewhere in there, Andraste herself handed you out of the fade,” Varric said.

Max grimaced.

“Regardless of any chantry mythology, this is simply wonderful,” Solas said, still awestruck by their surroundings.

“Try not to get too excited, Chuckles,” Varric recommended. “So how the hell do we get out of here?”

“They were trying to let a demon out,” Ella said, her ears still twitching. “In the main courtyard. Maybe we can get out through the same rift?”

Collectively, they scanned the horizon of the fade, looking for any sort of sign that might point them in the right direction. In the distance - far, far in the distance – was a sight not unlike the Breach.

“I’m going to guess that’s our ride home,” Max said. “Shall we?”

The others agreed, but seemed reluctant to take the lead moving forward. Max didn’t blame them, but also didn’t want to do it. He took it anyway, because that seemed to be his lot in life, and was therefore the first to come across the creatures trying to attack them. He only had a moment to wonder if their traditional fighting methods would work in the Fade before he had to try anyway. They made it through a few groups of wisps and shades, all of whom did – thankfully – go down when Max poisoned them, when Carver swung at them, when Varric and Ella shot at them, and when Dorian, Hawke, and Solas fired spell after spell in their direction.

They made it unscathed to a flight of stairs carved into the walls of the raw fade. Working towards the rift on the horizon had been suspiciously straightforward, almost as if the landscape were guiding them towards their destination. Max wanted to question it, but from what he knew of the fade, it didn’t seem all that unlikely. He wished Evie were there, while at the same time being devoutly grateful she wasn’t. She knew infinitely more about the fade than he did, but he’d happily suffer the lack of information in exchange for her safety.

And then they reached the top of the stairs and froze. Divine Mother Justinia V was standing in front of them, watching them all with sad eyes, unchanged since the last time Max had seen her at the Conclave. And, quite obviously, she was waiting for them.

* * *

* * *

 

Ella hated everything about the fade. It reminded her too much of her encounter with the envy demon in Therinfall Redoubt. It reminded her that she was a foundling elf, but not a mage. And now a woman who could only be Divine Justinia was watching them and telling Max he could find his missing memories from the conclave if only they fought the wisps coming their way.

Ella had trouble with her arrows under normal circumstances, but it was even more difficult in this place that felt - well that was the thing. She could see it sitting ill on everyone else’s face, but Solas was thrilled to be there despite the danger and Ella didn’t feel out of place. She felt like she was  _ supposed  _ to feel out of place.

Max used his mark to regain a shard of memory, and to Ella’s – and she assumed everyone else’s – surprise, the landscape around them shifted and showed the Temple of Sacred Ashes where Divine Justinia was being suspended by a group of –

“Those are Grey Wardens,” Carver said, floored.

“And that’s Corypheus,” Hawke replied as the creature himself walked into the scene, extending some sort of orb towards Divine Justinia. Before everything could go truly wrong, Max – a different copy of Max – burst into the room and the memory dissolved.

Their group was silent as they stared at Max. He wore only a blank expression, but he was flexing the fingers on his left hand over and over again. He didn’t seem to realise he was doing it until Dorian put a hand on his shoulder. Max cleared his throat and shook out his fingers.

“It’s funny, I never actually believed it was Andraste who gave me the mark anyway,” he said, but Ella wasn’t sure she believed him. “Funny how a coincidence can turn you into something like the Inquisitor.”

“We should keep going,” Varric said. “I don’t trust anything about this place.”

Dwarves weren’t meant to be in the fade, Ella remembered. Dwarves didn’t even dream.

“Varric’s right,” Hawke said. “We should go before--”

Hawke cut off with a yell, and they all jumped back, weapons aimed.

“Why are there giant spiders?” Max demanded, spinning out of the way and stabbing something.

“They look like spiders to you?” Varric asked, firing a bolt at one of the things. Ella screamed without meaning to, and ducked behind one of the outcroppings of strange green rock before she could see the thing – the thing that looked exactly like Mahanon – fall dead to the ground.

“Ella?” Dorian asked, and then Evie was running towards her, staff drawn, looking like she was ready to light Ella on fire.

Before she could cast the spell, before Ella could remember that Evie wasn’t in the fade with them, Carver’s sword burst through her chest and the fearling disintegrated. Carver gave Ella a disapproving and slightly concerned look and then went to fight the other creatures attacking them.

Ella tried to fight back the nausea and looked up in time to see Max fighting himself. She wanted to help, but she didn’t know which of them was the demon and which was Max. Finally, one of the Maxes decapitated the other and the demon burst into nothingness. Ella shivered and felt her bowstring quiver under her hands. She lowered it, unsure what good she could possibly be from here on out.

“What happened?” Dorian asked her, taking her elbow briefly.

“They don’t look like spiders,” Ella said, swallowing. She wasn’t sure she was going to get the image of Evie trying to kill her out of her head, or the image of Evie dying.

Dorian didn’t pry, which Ella was grateful for. Instead, they followed Max and the others farther into the fade. More of the things Solas called fearlings came towards them and without a care in the world, Max and Hawke and Carver and Varric tore them apart while Dorian and Solas fired spells at them. It must have been easy when they looked like spiders, Ella thought, unable to look while one that took Bull’s appearance tried to kill Hawke, and another that looked like Krem tried to kill Solas.

And it all got that much worse when the demon that controlled this section of the fade started speaking to them.

_ Are you satisfied, Varric? Hawke in trouble because of you. Again. _

“Watch it, Smiley,” Varric grumbled, pointing his crossbow at the sky above them like he could somehow pinpoint the demon. Ella wished him luck.

The next thing the creature said was in elvish and Ella could only catch a few words of it. Solas, however, replied in kind. Whatever they’d said wasn’t something Ella wanted to deal with, based on the look on Solas’s face.

_ Did you think anything you did mattered, Hawke? You couldn’t even save your city, how could you hope to save the world? _

“Don’t bother,” Hawke called to nothingness. “I’ve got a brother for that.”

“I don’t think anyone could’ve saved Kirkwall,” Carver said, though it sounded like it cost him a great deal to say.

“That’s – Carver, I’m touched,” Hawke said, and Carver rolled his eyes.

“Can we keep going?” Dorian requested. “I’d rather not linger here if we can avoid it.”

Max beckoned them forward out of the wrong turn they’d taken, onward with their quest to get out.

_ I’m sorry to delay you Halward – or is it Dorian? I can’t tell. _

Dorian bristled, clearly intending to shake it off, but Ella saw him blanch just faintly.

“Well that was uncalled for,” he said.

“We shouldn’t linger,” Solas said, but they were stopped by Divine Justinia appearing before them again.

When yet more fearlings attacked, Ella couldn’t do it. She didn’t care how useless she was, she couldn’t make herself fire off any arrows at the people who looked like her friends, who had turned on her and were trying to attack her.

_ They’ll abandon you in real life too, Ellana Lavellan. Or whoever you are. Just like your parents. Just like your clan. Not that it was ever your clan to begin with. You’re barely even an elf. _

Ella covered her ears. She wished she could at least fight the small fearlings, like everyone else. That she could see spiders like everyone else.

But she wasn’t going to get her wish, and she was going to simply be very grateful if she survived the whole ordeal.

Finally, the fearlings were dead and Max had reclaimed another memory from the Nightmare. They all watched as Divine Justinia, not Andraste, forced Max through the rift in the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and they watched Divine Justinia die. Once the memory faded, all of them turned to the spirit. To Ella’s - and she assumed everyone else’s - shock, there was a crackle and the guise of the Divine vanished, leaving only the spirit in a patch of blazing light. 

“I am sorry,” the spirit said. “I had thought you might trust me more if I took that form.” 

“So what are you?” Max asked. Ella glanced at Dorian to see what he thought, but he didn’t notice since he was staring into the middle distance, looking very much like he was putting difficult pieces of information together into an almost impossible puzzle.

“We are discovered,” the spirit said instead of answering, and vanished with a crack.

“Well, whatever it is, it’s clearly trying to help us,” Max said. “So we should keep going. We have to be almost out, don’t we?”

“And then we can deal with the fact the Grey Wardens were partly responsible for the Divine’s death,” Hawke said.

“Clearly, they were being controlled, just like they were at Adamant,” Carver snapped. “Besides, I thought  _ you  _ were the one to kill Corypheus.”

_ And here you’ve wasted so much of your life worrying you’d never measure up to your brother _ , the Nightmare snarled in Carver’s direction.

“Oh fuck off would you?” Carver shouted at it.

_ You even joined the Grey Wardens to try and set yourself apart – now look where that’s gotten you. _

“I joined them so I wouldn’t die of the darkspawn bite,” Carver grumbled.

_ But Bethany joined because of you and how do you suppose that’s going to turn – _

“Fuck off!” Hawke and Carver shouted in unison.

To Ella’s surprise, the nightmare fell silent. The only one of their party it hadn’t come for yet was Max. Ella couldn’t even fathom what Max’s fears would be.

“We can decide whether Hawke’s somehow-botched killing of Corypheus or the Grey Wardens in general are more responsible for this shit show later,” Max said. “Preferably after we get the hell out of here. So can we go?”

Hawke and Carver glanced at each other and then nodded.

They fought their way past several pride demons, some despair demons, some shades, all of which Ella found she was glad to see, since those she could fight without panicking. But the fight was all the worse for the fact there were multiple versions of Max, Dorian, and Varric running through, some of them trying to kill their own doubles. Evie and Bull and Krem and Cassandra were there, taking swings at the others, who simply slaughtered them, unaware of how it looked to Ella. She knew they weren’t real, knew they weren’t really any of the people she loved, but she also knew she was going to have nightmares about all of this for the rest of her life.

And then her heart truly broke when the very last fearling to come running towards them, instantly pierced by one of Varric’s arrows, looked just like Fenlen.

Ella only realised she’d been crying when Dorian offered her a handkerchief from somewhere within his armour. She took it and dabbed her eyes, glad he didn’t ask her why she was so upset.

_ So you’ve made it to my lair,  _ the nightmare called as they turned a corner and passed through some sort of eldritch waterfall.  _ I’m impressed you could lead them here, Trevelyan. You’ve always been a puppet on someone else’s string. _

Max ignored the nightmare’s words and simply stared upwards. Ella couldn’t figure out why until she followed his gaze, and then she wished she hadn’t. The nightmare was a monstrosity, easily the size of Corypheus’s dragon, with more legs than anything was supposed to have and a great gaping maw full of razor teeth oozing poison. Ella didn’t usually fear creatures, not even spiders, but her knees trembled.

“Ah,” Hawke said. “Well that’s…”

“You? Lost for words, Giggles?” Varric asked, just the faintest undercurrent of nerves in his voice.

Max opened his mouth to say something, but Hawke pre-empted him.

“Never entirely, Varric,” he said. “Otherwise, where would you get your stories?”

Ella glanced at Dorian to see him looking just as confused as she was. She was fairly sure Varric had said he didn’t have a nickname for Hawke, but she also knew for a fact he called Max “Giggles.”

Any question they might have asked was interrupted by their guide, the spirit, Divine Justinia, whatever she was, bursting into the nightmare and incapacitating the beast. And then it was time to fight.

“As soon as the fucking thing falls,” Max instructed, slicing open a fearling that looked like Sera while Ella shuddered and shot wildly at one of the terrors. “Get to the rift and get out of here. Alright?”

Ella nodded and passed the message on to Solas, who was nearest. He agreed, but even with the massive demon attempting to murder them at that moment, he still seemed reluctant to leave the fade. She dodged a terror and stabbed it in the limb with an arrow in order to reach Varric and give him Max’s instructions. Varric acknowledged her by leaping backwards and telling Hawke and Carver.

Ella returned to the protected spot beside Max and Dorian in time to hear Dorian tell him that he’d be leaving the fade precisely when Max did and not a second sooner, thank you very much. The faintest hint of a smile quirked the edges of Max’s mouth, and then the aspect of the nightmare they were fighting fell.

“Go!” Max shouted, pushing Ella towards the rift.

She didn’t look back.

* * *

* * *

“How many times are we going to do this exact fucking thing?” Evie demanded, lowering her staff to blast a wall of fire directly at a despair demon that was trying to kill Solona. It was the first weakness in Solona’s magic Evie had seen since they’d started fighting beside each other on the ramparts. Now they’d made their way to the central courtyard, but Max’s party was gone, and the people he’d sent with them to the ramparts had vanished into the fucking ether and Evie was going to find, resurrect, and then murder again the architect behind Adamant Fortress.

“Rage demon behind you!” Solona replied, and they pivoted so Solona could freeze it in its tracks.

“I hate every single thing that made this event possible,” Evie snarled, hurling another blast of fire at a pride demon.

“Even Cullen’s trebuchets?” Solona asked, sending a river of ice along the stone steps and toppling a line of possessed wardens. “Because even I like those.”

“No, those can stay,” Evie agreed, and then looked back at the pride demon. It was blocking a wavering fade rift, which was also probably the first rift Evie had ever seen that wasn’t spewing demons at them. “What are we going to do about that thing?”

“Strip its defences,” Solona instructed. “Leave the rest to me.”

Evie didn’t ask, just started shooting fire at it. While she kept it distracted, Solona climbed up some scaffolding more quickly than Evie could’ve ever suspected, and without seeming to bat an eyelash, she launched herself from the top, a translucent spirit blade materialising in her hand as she fell towards the demon. With a single swing, its head detached from its body. Solona landed in a graceful roll that took her straight through the pool of demon blood and came up in a crouch between the pride demon’s horned head and the decapitated body, her blue and grey armour splattered in blood and her matching bloody hair whipping around her face in the breeze.

Evie stared at her, faintly aware that there were footsteps behind her, and that the people who were approaching were all in awed silence. Evie glanced to her left and realised it was Cassandra and Bull and the Chargers, Cullen, the Inquisition soldiers, and the remaining Grey Wardens.

“What?” Solona asked, standing from her crouch.

“That was…quite impressive, Warden-Commander,” Cassandra said.

“It was a pride demon,” Solona said. “I did kill an archdemon once. Anyone know where the Inquisitor’s got to? Or Warden-Commander Clarel? I could have a few words with her.”

“Has anyone seen the Inquisitor?” Cullen asked, turning to his men and the Wardens. He was slightly ruffled, a bit of blood on his armour, but as far as Evie could tell he was undamaged which set part of her at ease.

“They went looking for Clarel,” Cassandra said. “We went to the ramparts.”

“You there, Warden,” Cullen barked, and a nearby Warden quailed and threw his hand up in a salute as if on reflex. “Were you here when the Inquisitor went through?”

“There was the archdemon, sir,” the Warden said. “Warden-Commander Clarel and the Inquisitor followed it and Magister Erimond up to the top of the tower and then--”

He couldn’t be very old, Evie decided. His face was still round and young, and he was clearly terrified of everything happening. In that minute she hated Livius Erimond more than she’d ever hated another person, even Damien.

“And then what?” Cassandra asked, her voice harsh.

The kid gulped, and addressed his toes. “Then they fell.”

Silence washed over the assembled crowd. Evie tried to process what it might mean, what the kid was saying. Surely he wasn’t saying that Max and Dorian and Ella and Varric and Hawke had fallen from the top of the fortress. There was nothing below it, just the abyssal wastes. They couldn’t have fallen, it wasn’t –

She didn’t realise she was sinking in shock until Cullen caught her with an arm around her waist.

_ I don’t know how this could be worse than watching my brother die in Haven _ , she’d said to Hawke, only three days earlier.

Well she’d found out, hadn’t she? Losing not just Max but also Ella, Dorian, Varric. Hawke, who was, now that she thought about it, her oldest friend apart from Max. All of them, in one swoop.

She couldn’t hear the words Cullen was saying, wasn’t entirely sure they were addressed to her. All she could hear was a faint ringing sound.

And then Cassandra gasped.

From the fade rift in the centre of the courtyard, Solas leapt gracefully to the ground and stepped aside, staring at the rift expectantly. Ella followed seconds later with none of Solas’s grace and Evie sobbed. She ducked out of Cullen’s grip and grabbed Ella in a hug so quickly she almost didn’t notice Ella flinch. But Ella squeezed her back while they both cried, though Evie had no idea what Ella was crying over - what had happened on the other side of the fade rift?

Varric was next to topple from the rift, and accepted Cassandra’s hand to pull him to his feet. Dorian followed, and Evie tried to drag him into her hug with Ella, but he ignored her, instead focusing intently on the rift. It felt like everyone in the courtyard was holding their breath, and as the seconds ticked past and Max and Hawke and Carver didn’t appear, Evie felt her heartbeat quicken.

“Where’s Max?” she asked.

“He was right behind me,” Dorian said. There was panic in his eyes, Evie noticed. Genuine panic. She’d never seen Dorian that way, and lunged to grab him a split second before he started for the rift again. Cullen’s arm wrapped around her waist again, pulling her just slightly back from the rift. Evie dragged Dorian along with her  until she noticed Cullen had him by the arm. Ella threaded her fingers through Evie’s, and the four of them stood, staring at the rift. Cassandra and Varric were a pace away, watching as well, wearing matching expressions of anticipation. Solas, as always, stood just slightly apart.

“He swore,” Dorian murmured. “He promised me.”

Evie had no idea what he was talking about, but she didn’t get a chance to ask, for right that moment, Max toppled out of the rift and stumbled shakily to his feet. In the time it took Dorian to break free of Cullen’s restraint, Max had held up his hand, and – looking like it was costing him everything – slammed the rift shut.

Evie did a quick headcount of the people they had. Bull and the Chargers and Sera were off to one side, while Blackwall, Sera, and Vivienne were on another. Solas was watching Max with a wary expression, though otherwise unharmed. Varric and Cassandra were still standing beside each other. And Hawke and Carver were…

It was Varric who finally asked, who looked Max in the eye and said, “Where’s Hawke?”


	24. Domine Non Sum Dignus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is recovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I'm so sorry posting this has taken so long, my life is a ball of chaos.

He tried to write it.

Given what Max had told them all – not told  _ him _ , because Max couldn’t look him in the fucking eye – it had been the sort of moment worthy of the page. The Champion of Kirkwall and his Grey Warden brother fighting over which of them was going to stay behind to fight an unkillable monster, only to eventually come to the conclusion that it had to be both of them. Only to bodily remove the Inquisitor from the scene before he could try and stay behind as well. Hawke probably had a witty one-liner before he –

Varric inhaled sharply against the stinging in his eyes. The frozen air of the Western Approach burned his throat and he exhaled a cloud of steam. In the distance, far from his vantage point on a rampart of Griffon Wing Keep, Varric could make out phoenixes screeching at each other, fighting other animals. All mindless savagery.

A clink of glass hitting stone broke his staring contest with nothingness and he turned to see first a bottle of some hopefully toxic liquor labelled “Warden Jairn. Smash when dead,” and then Cassandra of all people. She sat down beside him. Varric stared at her for a long, heavy moment, and then she produced two beat up tin cups and pulled the stopper from the bottle. She handed him a cup, but she stayed silent. Varric had no idea what to do with the situation, so he focused on the alcohol.

It burned going down, made worse by the cold air, but he found he didn’t particularly care.

“At the Conclave,” Cassandra said, her voice low enough that Varric didn’t even flinch. “There was a mage representative named Regalyan. I did not know he was there until afterwards.”

Varric raised an eyebrow, not sure why Cassandra was telling him about this particular mage.

“He was – he is still the only man I’ve ever loved,” Cassandra said.

Varric didn’t think he was supposed to respond, so instead he drank, as did Cassandra.

“And I have wondered since the Conclave if – if it was not for me, perhaps he would never have come to the Conclave, and he would still be alive,” Cassandra said, and Varric finally saw her point.

“Even if you’d found Hawke before the Conclave and if he’d d- if it had been then, it still would’ve been my fault,” Varric said. “Because the only way you would’ve known where to find him was if I told you.”

“I’m sorry, Varric,” Cassandra said, and he could hear the actual pain in her voice, and something in his chest broke.

He figured even Hawke wouldn’t have given him shit for crying then. Probably would’ve given him shit if he didn’t.

Cassandra shifted awkwardly, and then stood up. She touched his shoulder and left him the bottle before starting to walk away.

Varric grabbed her hand suddenly enough that she froze before tentatively returning some of the pressure.

“Would you, um,” he started, and tried to dry his face with the back of his free hand. “Would you stay? I shouldn’t – I’d rather not be alone.”

Cassandra didn’t respond immediately, but slowly she returned to her seat and said, very softly, “alright.” Together in silence they watched the moonlight on the desert.

* * *

* * *

 

The return to Griffon Wing Keep was the soberest Dorian could ever recall the Inquisition being. In the months since he’d joined the gang, maybe even going back to the time he met Evie in a tavern near Redcliffe, the time they met Ella, he couldn’t remember a moment filled with more despair, more pain. The only thing that came close was Haven, when, for too many hours, Dorian thought Max was dead. But that had been Dorian’s own personal suffering. This greyness that hung over their ride back to their keep was shared by everyone.

When they reached the fort, and the gates were sealed behind them, Max only managed a brief, “Thank you all for your effort, and your willingness to sacrifice today. We should all get some sleep,” before taking himself off to the room he’d claimed the last time they were there. Under such happier circumstances.

Dorian paused only to check on Ella. She was sitting on one of the scaffolds, her legs swinging back and forth like a much younger child’s, while she stared downwards at nothing. Dorian squeezed her hand, not expecting pressure back and not receiving it, and pressed a kiss to her temple before going to find Max.

He didn’t bother to knock, simply burst in and let the door slam shut behind him. Max didn’t look up from where he was sitting at the desk with his head in his hands. He’d stuck his hands through his hair and was gripping the strands so hard his knuckles had turned white. Dorian felt at least half the anger he’d been sitting on fizzle out in light of the sheer agony in the set of Max’s shoulders.

“So what do you suppose she was?” he asked in his most conversational tone. It wasn’t how he’d intended to start the conversation, but it was too late to take it back. “Clearly, she wasn’t the spirit of Divine Justinia, but she was helpful. She was willing to help  _ you  _ specifically. Rumour has it that you charming southerners believe the Divine to be the earthly steward of the office of the original Justinia, who recorded all of Andraste’s songs, so surely the Divine is best defined as the instrument through which Andraste speaks to us all. Which would suggest that if it wasn’t Divine Justinia V we met in the fade, or her spirit, but someone using her form as a way to guide and speak to us, then perhaps--”

“What do you want, Dorian?” Max interrupted before Dorian could make his final point. “I don’t deserve anything like comfort right now.”

His voice was more broken and hollow than Dorian could remember hearing it.

“Good, because that’s not why I’m here,” Dorian said, eyeing him. Max didn’t look at him. Dorian couldn’t be sure if the tears starting to sting his lower lashes were from anger or sadness or maybe, possibly, horribly, relief.

“You promised, Max,” he managed to say. “You promised me. You swore –  _ swore to me  _ – that you wouldn’t--”

“That I wouldn’t what?” Max demanded, letting go of his hair and standing.

“You promised you’d never ask me to leave you to die again,” Dorian said.

Something else in Max’s face broke, and Dorian’s heart with it.

“I didn’t--”

“Look me in the eye – look at me,” Dorian instructed. Max looked, and to his deep dismay Dorian realised Max’s veridian eyes were too close to the colour of the mark on his hand, the green of the fade, to be comfortable. If Evie’s hadn’t matched precisely, Dorian would’ve thought they were a trick of the anchor. “Look me in the eye and tell me you weren’t intending to fight the Nightmare until everyone was out, your own fate be damned.”

Max looked away.

“Damn it, Max!” Dorian snapped. “What would it have done to the Inquisition if you’d died down there? You’re the only one who can close the rifts! What would – what would it have done to Evie if you hadn’t come back out? If she’d had to watch her brother die? What would--”

Dorian broke off, finding it much harder to speak than he’d anticipated.

“What would what?” Max asked, still unwilling to look at him.

“What would it have done to me?” Dorian asked, just barely above a whisper. “Max, I--”

But he couldn’t repeat it. Not like this. Not now.

He didn’t try to cover, didn’t get a chance, because Max grabbed him and crashed their lips together. Dorian held onto his back so tightly he was almost surprised he didn’t tear the leather of his jacket.

It was different than last time, less eagerness, more eager desperation. Max didn’t try to map every inch of Dorian’s skin the way he had, revelling in every bit of skin revealed, but rather ran his hands searchingly across the planes of Dorian’s chest, the length of his back, when his coat hit the floor, cataloguing damage. Dorian returned the favour, his fingers catching on bandages and tender spots of flesh. He was no good at healing magic, not really, but he tried to ease some of the worst spots as he inspected Max from head to waist.

Instead of the frenzied search for supplies they’d had before, Dorian simply backed Max towards the bed and refused to break the kiss when Max stumbled to sit on the edge. Dorian shuddered while Max’s rough, deft fingers unlaced his trousers, and pulled away before he could put his hand down Dorian’s smalls. Dorian wanted to memorize every part of Max that he could see, from the formation of the freckles on his shoulders to the faint line of copper hair that disappeared beneath his waistband. He wanted to fix the taste of him so firmly in his memory that he’d still know it when he was old and dying.

Because he would be, he decided, while he kissed down the side of Max’s throat and tasted every bit of skin that passed beneath his tongue. Dorian refused to die until he was old and grey. But if this day had told him anything, it was that this war that had brought this amazing man into his life was very likely going to take him away as well. Dorian wanted to worship him while he could.

His subconscious had an odd choice of words, he realised while he dropped to his knees. He’d never really understood people referring to Max as “your worship” but at the same time, he was the first thing that had ever piqued Dorian’s interest as an object of reverence.

Dorian unlaced Max’s trousers and revelled in the noises Max made when he took him into his mouth. Max’s fingers wound into Dorian’s hair, just tightly enough to give a pleasant sting. Dorian hummed encouragingly and Max’s answering groan was almost enough to make Dorian smile.

There was a quote, by a writer whose name Dorian could never recall. It popped into Dorian’s head again while he ran his tongue along Max, but he couldn’t remember the second part. The first was easy: “Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling.” They’d bandied it about as a filthy joke in brothels that Dorian had spent time in, back in Tevinter. But he had never felt the words to be true until that moment.

He recalled the second part after, curled in Max’s bed beside him and staring at the profile of his face. Max wasn’t asleep, just staring at the ceiling while the candle started guttering.

“Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling, and ‘ _ Domine non sum dignus _ ’ should be on the lips and in the hearts of those who receive it,” he mumbled to himself.

“Hm?” Max asked, breaking his staring contest with the golden bricks and turning to look at Dorian instead in the fading light.

“A quote,” Dorian said with a shrug. “I can never remember the author.”

“What is it?” Max asked.

Dorian repeated it and pressed his face into Max’s hand when Max cupped it. Somehow, Dorian had managed to ensnare the chosen of Andraste, which he’d never believed more than he did at that moment.  _ Domine non sum dignus _ indeed.

“What does the bit in Tevene mean?” Max asked. “To be honest the rest of it sounds a bit like a joke about blowjobs.”

“I’m fairly certain it is,” Dorian said. “You can understand why it popped into my head.”

Max cracked a smile and kissed him for a lingering moment. He’d been languid and cuddly the last time too, which, though foreign to Dorian’s experience, was entirely welcome.

“So I’m guessing the Tevene part is something filthy?” Max asked.

Dorian shrugged. “Probably, it’s not really a spoken phrase anymore.”

_ Liar _ , he accused.

Max smiled again, and kissed him again, and then rested his forehead against Dorian’s in the last light of the candle.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I broke my promise.”

“It shouldn’t be that hard to keep, should it?” Dorian asked, with a bad attempt at humour. “I simply requested that you not ask me to leave you to die. So when you inevitably end up in another deathly situation, you merely have to let me stay with you.”

Max nodded slightly.

“Although, mind you, I intend to be fully grey by the time I die, so if we could keep the near-death experiences to a minimum, I would appreciate that,” Dorian continued.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Max said. “And I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” Dorian said, pressing his hand to Max’s chest just over his heart. It was comforting, endlessly comforting, to feel the steady beat beneath his palm. Even when it slowed as Max fell asleep.

_ Domine non sum dignus _ , Dorian thought again. Who was he to ask the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, to stay safe just on his behalf, world be damned?

A fool. A fool who’d gone and fallen in love with the most doomed man in all of Thedas.

Well he’d taken his sacrament now, taken it kneeling, and Maker, he was not worthy.

With his ear pressed against Max’s chest to listen to his heartbeat, Dorian forced the lingering memories of the fade away, and finally fell to sleep.

* * *

* * *

 

Evie roamed the halls of Griffon Wing Keep feeling a bit like a ghost. Max and Dorian had vanished into the keep as soon as they returned and she felt sure they were going to comfort each other as best they could. Cullen had warned her about his looming absence with about a thousand soft, apologetic kisses, but he had to deal with the reports around the fallout of the events of Adamant. Ella, though this hadn’t entirely surprised Evie, had dragged Bull off to closed quarters. Briefly, Evie considered trying to find Varric and make sure he wasn’t flinging himself from the ramparts, but she had no idea what she could possibly say to him given how relieved she was Max and Ella and Dorian and Varric himself had come tumbling out of the rift.

She found herself in the taproom where she’d last sat with Hawke, and discovered almost immediately that she wasn’t alone there.

Solona didn’t resemble her cousin – either of them, really – but there was something in her posture as she lounged in one of the chairs with her feet up on the table that was in the same genre of personhood. Evie didn’t say anything, but sat down across from her and accepted the tankard Solona offered her.

“I spent half my childhood jealous of Garrett,” she said without prompting. “Getting to be an apostate in Lothering instead of Kirkwall’s hightown, or trapped in Kinloch Hold.”

“Kirkwall?” Evie asked, frowning.

“I was born there,” Solona said. “Several years after Garrett’s mother ran off with a Fereldan apostate. The templars dragged me off and left my mother crying in the streets, but I suppose they didn’t trust the Amell family to not try and break me out because they put me on a ship to Ferelden before they’d even officially charged me with being a mage. Carver told me once, their mother Leandra was perfectly content to blame Garrett and Bethany’s magic on the Hawke side of the family, right up until I turned out to be a mage. Me and all four of my siblings.”

Evie tried to parse her tone but couldn’t. She wondered if this was, for the first time, Solona without filters. She wasn’t trying to convince Evie of anything, she didn’t think, and she wasn’t being horrible for the sake of it.

“None of the stories talk about your siblings,” Evie said.

“If you’re lucky, you’ll show up in Max’s, but the rest of the Trevelyans certainly won’t,” Solona replied. “Besides, Bethany and I are all that’s left of the once glorious Amell family. The stories don’t speak of the vainglorious dead.”

“What happened to them?” Evie asked.

“The Blight,” Solona said calmly. “Kirkwall uprisings. Orlais. One just didn’t survive his Harrowing.”

“And you and Bethany are both Grey Wardens, aren’t you?” Evie asked.

Solona scoffed, and drank some of her wine. “Thus ends the family Amell, right?”

Evie didn’t know what to say so she settled for drinking.

“I wish Warden-Commander Clarel hadn’t died before I got to shout at her,” Solona said, a sudden frosty snap in her voice. “I probably could’ve convinced her it was a fake Calling, might have saved us all the trouble in the first place, but no.”

“How did you know the Calling was fake?” Evie asked.

“Because,” Solona said, finishing off her wine. “When  _ I  _ heard the Calling, I did the logical thing. I found a cure. So when it came back, I knew it couldn’t be real.”

Evie choked on her drink. “You found a cure?”

Solona’s answering smile didn’t reach her eyes. Instead, she stood up and absently traced a rime of frost around the rim of her cup.

“I think it might be that we only get to save the world so many times before we become something legends can’t contain,” Solona said. “Tell Sola – Max. Tell Max he should watch out for that moment, because for him, I think it might be fast approaching.”

And then she was gone, leaving Evie alone in the wine cellar.

* * *

* * *

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Ella shrugged one shoulder but didn’t lift her cheek from her knees. The few injuries she’d sustained during the battle in the fortress and the fade were salved and healing, better aided by sitting upright with her back bared. She didn’t think the healing process was helped by Bull tracing absentminded designs on her bare skin, but she also wasn’t going to stop him.

“Did I tell you about Therinfall Redoubt?” Ella asked, keeping her arms wrapped around her knees. Moonlight was filtering through the window and bleaching the blanket Ella had mostly stolen, and turning Bull’s already grey skin blue.

“Not much,” Bull said. “Krem said something about you beating an envy demon to death with your bow.”

“After it tried to possess me,” Ella said. “It tried to get in my head and find all the pieces of envy it could.”

“How’d that work?” Bull asked, continuing to trace his patterns. She wondered if he even realised he was doing it. That small contact was somehow more intimate than the fact they were both naked.

“I’m not a particularly envious person,” Ella said. “Nothing it said could stick.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“The demon we were fighting in the fade was a fear demon,” she said. “It had these…minions. Fearlings, I think Solas called them. I think everyone else saw them as spiders.”

“What did you see?” Bull asked.

“All of you,” Ella said. “Evie, and Dorian, and Max, and Varric, and Krem, and you, trying to kill us, fighting against themselves.”

Bull was silent for a long time, and Ella would’ve thought he’d fallen asleep except for the patterns.

“That must have felt a little like you were going crazy,” Bull said finally.

“I couldn’t tell who was real and who was one of the fearlings,” Ella said. She hugged her knees tighter to her chest, and Bull’s hand finally stilled. It stayed on her back, splayed out and large enough to cover half the space. “I killed Evie and Krem and you more times than I can count.”

Bull let her cry silently for a minute and then sat up and wrapped an overly large arm around her shoulders, pulling her down and positioning her so her head was on his chest.

“Is that your biggest fear?” Bull asked. “Hurting the people you care about?”

Ella shook her head and he responded by stroking her hair.

“It’s not hurting all of you,” she said. “But you’re the first people who’ve ever cared about me, ever, in my entire life, and I’m terrified you’ll stop.”

She didn’t mean Bull in particular; she meant Evie, and Dorian, and Krem, and Max, and Varric. She meant the Inquisition as a whole. She wasn’t sure she could live with the people she’d met and grown to love ceasing to care about her. She didn’t have anywhere else to go, after all. The nightmare had pointed that out perfectly well. She was barely an elf, really.

She stopped shivering when Bull pressed an unexpected kiss on the top of her head.

“I know it doesn’t help, but I don’t think that’s going to happen,” he said.

“Thanks,” Ella said.

They lay in silence for a long while, long enough that Ella was sure he’d fallen asleep before she spoke.

“What are you most afraid of?” she whispered, entirely expecting he wouldn’t answer.

But he did, in the same whisper. “Madness,” he said.

“In yourself or in people you know?” she asked.

She was less surprised than she felt like she should be when his answer was, “I don’t know.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote, "Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling, and _‘Domine non sum dignus’_ should be on the lips and in the hearts of those who receive it," is of course by Oscar Wilde. And is, I'm willing to bet, entirely intended as a joke about blowjobs, because my boy Oscar was Like That. I imagine that he and Dorian would get along famously were Dorian real and were they in the same time period. 
> 
> The Latin bit in the quote, and the title of the chapter, means, "Lord I am not worthy."

**Author's Note:**

> You can come talk to me about anything at [my main tumblr](http://hmslusitania.tumblr.com) or come talk to me specifically about Dragon Age on the [sideblog I've started](http://need-more-elfroots.tumblr.com).
> 
>  **A Note on Updates 7 August 2018**  
>  So I'm not dead, that I promise. The problem is that I am in graduate school, doing medieval history, and the only type of medieval anything I can think about right now without going crazy is my thesis on the Albigensian Crusade. It's due on August 31st. Realistically, the next update for this fic will be sometime at the end of September. Thank you all for your patience and I'm sorry it's taking so long.


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